E.  K.  MEANS 


Is  this  a  title  ?  It  is  not.  It  is 
the  name  of  a  writer  of  negro  stories, 
who  has  made  himself  so  completely 
the  writer  of  negro  stories  that  his 
book  needs  no  title. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

KEMBLE 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

Gbe   ftnicfcerbocher   press 
1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 

BY 
E.  K.   MEANS 


Tlbe  Untcfeerbocfeer  press,  flew  ItJorb 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble- 

"  Boo-hoo, "  Scootie  wailed. 

"Aw!  shut  up,"  the  old  man  snapped. 

(See  page  12.) 


Co 
ROBERT  H.  DAVIS 

WHO  TAUGHT   ME  HOW 

AND 

"ITTU  " 
WHO  KEPT   ME  AT   IT. 


Foreword. 

THE  stories  in  this  volume  were  written  simply 
because  of  my  interest  in  the  stories  themselves 
and  because  of  a  whimsical  fondness  for  the  people 
of  that  Race  to  whom  God  has  given  two  supreme 
gifts, — Music  and  Laughter. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  curious,  I  may  say  that 
many  of  the  incidents  in  these  tales  are  true  and 
many  of  the  characters  and  places  mentioned 
actually  exist. 

The  Hen-Scratch  saloon  derived  its  name  from 
the  fact  that  many  of  its  colored  habitues  played 
"  craps "  on  the  ground  under  the  chinaberry 
trees  until  the  soil  was  marked  by  their  scratching 
finger-nails  like  a  chicken-yard.  The  name  Tick- 
fall  is  fictitious,  but  the  locality  will  be  easily 
recognized  by  the  true  names  of  the  negro  settle 
ments,  Dirty-Six,  Hell's-Half-Acre,  Shiny,  Tin- 
row, — lying  in  the  sand  around  that  rich  and 
aristocratic  little  town  like  pigs  around  their  dam 
and  drawing  their  sustenance  therefrom. 

Skeeter  Butts's  real  name  is  Perique.  Perique 
is  also  the  name  of  Louisiana's  famous  home 
grown  tobacco,  and  as  Skeeter  is  too  diminutive  to 
be  named  after  a  whole  cigar,  his  white  friends 


vi  Foreword 

have  always  called  him  Butts.  Vinegar  Atts  is  a 
well-known  colored  preacher  of  north  Louisiana, 
whose  "swing-tail  prancin  * -albert  coat"  has  been 
seen  in  many  pulpits,  and  whose  "stove-pipe, 
preachin'  hat"  has  been  the  target  of  many  a  stone 
thrown  from  a  mischievous  white  boy's  hand. 
Hitch  Diamond  is  known  at  every  landing  place 
on  the  Mississippi  River  as  "Big  Sandy." 

When  these  tales  were  first  published  in  the 
All  Story  Weekly,  many  readers  declared  that 
they  were  humorous.  Nevertheless,  I  hold  that 
a  story  containing  dialect  must  necessarily  have 
many  depressing  and  melancholy  features.  But 
dialect  does  not  consist  of  perverted  pronuncia 
tions  and  phonetic  orthography.  True  dialect  is  a 
picture  in  cold  type  of  the  manifold  peculiarities 
of  the  mind  and  temperament.  In  its  form,  I  have 
attempted  to  give  merely  a  flavor  of  the  negro 
dialect;  but  I  have  made  a  sincere  attempt  to 
preserve  the  essence  of  dialect  by  making  these 
stories  contain  a  true  idea  of  the  negro's  shrewd 
observations,  curious  retorts,  quaint  comments, 
humorous  philosophy,  and  his  unique  point  of 
view  on  everything  that  comes  to  his  attention. 

The  Folk  Tales  of  Joel  Chandler  Harris  are 
imperishable  pictures  of  plantation  life  in  the 
South  before  the  Civil  War  and  of  the  negro  slave 
who  echoed  all  his  master's  prejudice  of  caste  and 
pride  of  family  in  the  old  times  that  are  no  more. 

The  negroes  of  this  volume  are  the  sons  of  the 
old  slaves.  Millions  of  them  live  to-day  in  the 
small  Southern  villages,  and  as  these  stories  indi- 


Foreword  vii 

cate,  many  changes  of  character,  mind,  and  tem 
perament  have  taken  place  in  the  last  half-cen 
tury  through  the  modifications  of  freedom  and 
education. 

This  type  also  is  passing.  In  a  brief  time,  the 
negro  who  lives  in  these  pages  will  be  a  memory, 
like  Uncle  Remus.  "Ethiopia  is  stretching  out 
her  hands"  after  art,  science,  literature,  and 
wealth,  and  when  the  sable  sons  of  laughter  and 
song  grasp  these  treasures,  all  that  remains  of 
the  Southern  village  negro  of  to-day  will  be  a  few 
faint  sketches  in  Fiction's  beautiful  temple  of 
dreams. 

E.  K.  MEANS. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD    .......       iii 

THE  LATE  FIGGER  BUSH  i 

HOODOO  EYES 39 

THE  ART  OF  ENTICING  LABOR  ...  72 
THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  MUD  HEN  ...  92 
Two  SORRY  SONS  OF  SORROW  .  .  .127 
MONARCH  OF  THE  MANACLE  .  .  .186 

ALL  is  FAIR 214 

HOODOO  FACE 274 


IX 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"Boo-Hoo,"  SCOOTIE  WAILED.     "Aw!  SHUT 

UP,"  THE  OLD  MAN  SNAPPED         Frontispiece 

"I'sE  DE  BRAYING  JACK-ASS  OF  GEORGIA,  AN* 
NO  NIGGER  IN  TICKFALL  C AIN'T  COMB 
MY  MANE" 58 

"COLONEL  GAITSKILL  TELEPHONED  ME  THAT 

YOUR  POCKETS  WERE  FULL  OF  MONEY"        86 

WHEN  THE  BOAT  STOPPED     .         .         .         .no 
MUSTARD  PROCEEDED  TO  PAINT  HIM  RED       .     158 

SKEETER  WENT  DOWN  THE  STREET  AT  FULL 
SPEED 208 

THE  PIE-FACED  SORREL  WITH  THE  SNAKE- 
BITTEN  LEG 218 

THE    "REVUN"    VINEGAR    ATTS    BEGAN    HIS 

SERMON 328 


XI 


The  Late  Figger  Bush. 

FIGGER  BUSH  did  not  look  like  a  man  who  was 
about  to  die;  if  anything,  he  looked  like  one  who 
ought  to  be  killed. 

He  was  a  scarecrow  sort  of  a  negro,  with  ragged, 
flapping  clothes.  His  coal-black  face  formed  a 
background  for  a  little,  stubby,  shoe-brush  mus 
tache,  and  Figger  thought  that  mustache  justified 
his  existence  in  the  world.  He  had  not  much 
use  for  his  coconut  head  except  to  support  a 
battered  wool  hat  and  grow  a  luxuriant  crop  of 
kinky  hair.  He  had  an  insuperable  aversion  to 
all  sorts  of  work. 

None  of  these  things  indicated  that  Figger  was 
about  to  die;  in  fact,  they  showed  that  he  was 
enjoying  life. 

The  only  thing  that  indicated  an  unusual 
condition  in  Figger  was  the  fact  that  he  was  now 
walking  down  the  middle  of  the  road  with  rapid 
and  ever-lengthening  steps,  glancing  from  side  to 
side,  and  grumbling  aloud  to  himself. 

"I  gotta  find  dat  Skeeter  Butts  an'  find  him 
quick,"  he  muttered.  "Nothin*  like  dis  ain't 
never  happen  to  me  befo',  an'  nobody  cain't 
'lucidate  on  my  troubles  like  Skeeter  kin." 


2  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

A  high,  cackling  laugh,  accompanied  by  a 
hoarse  bellow  of  laughter,  floated  to  him  upon 
the  hot  August  breeze,  and  Figger  ceased  his  grum 
bling  and  began  to  chuckle. 

"I  gits  exputt  advices  now,"  he  mumbled. 
"Skeeter  am.  talkin'  sociable  wid  de  Revun  Vine 
gar  Atts." 

On  top  of  the  hill  in  front  of  the  Shoofly  church, 
Figger  found  his  two  friends  resting  under  the 
shade  of  a  chinaberry  tree. 

Skeeter  Butts,  the  little,  yellow  barkeeper 
at  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  had  the  back  of  his 
chair  propped  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  his 
heels  hung  in  the  rungs  of  the  chair  in  front,  and 
looked  like  a  jockey  mounted  upon  a  bony,  sway- 
backed  horse.  Vinegar  Atts,  the  fat,  bald-headed, 
moon-faced  pastor  of  the  Shoofly  church,  sat  on 
one  chair,  rested  his  feet  on  another,  and  had 
his  massive  arms  outspread  upon  the  backs  of 
yet  two  other  chairs.  He  looked  like  a  pot 
bellied  buzzard  trying  to  fly  upside  down  and 
backward. 

"Come  up,  Figger !"  Vinegar  howled,  as  he 
kicked  the  chair,  on  which  his  feet  rested,  toward 
him.  "Take  a  seat,  take  a  set-down,  rest  yo'  hat, 
spit  on  de  flo' — make  yo'se'f  at  home!" 

Figger  picked  up  the  chair,  placed  it  back  where 
Atts  could  rest  his  feet  upon  it  again,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  ground,  interlocking  the  fingers  of  both 
hands  and  nursing  his  bent  knees. 

"You  been  cuttin'  out  chu'ch  recent.  How 
come?"  Vinegar  bellowed. 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  3 

"Religium  don't  he'p  a  po'  nigger  like  me," 
Figger  responded  gloomily. 

"Dat's  a  fack, "  Atts  agreed  promptly.  "Reli 
gium  is  got  to  hab  somepin  to  ketch  holt  on  an* 
you  ain't  nothin'." 

"Whut  ails  you?"  Skeeter  inquired,  looking 
at  Figger  intently.  "You  ain't  look  nachel  to 
me  some  way." 

Figger  sighed  deeply,  then  executed  a  feeble 
grin. 

"A  nigger  man  is  comin'  to  see  me,  Skeeter," 
he  explained,  "an'  I  don't  need  him." 

"  Who's  a-comin'?" 

"Popsy  Spout." 

"Whar's  he  been  at?"  Vinegar  asked. 

"Yallerbam',"  Figger  told  him. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  while  the  two 
waited  for  Figger  to  tell  them  all  about  it.  But  if 
Figger  ever  did  anything  he  had  to  be  pushed 
along. 

"I  don't  see  nothin'  so  powerful  bad  in  dat, " 
Skeeter  snapped,  impatient  at  the  delay.  "Popsy 
Spout  is  comin'  from  Yalabama — well?" 

"It's  dis  way,"  Figger  explained,  slapping  at 
the  ground  with  his  battered  wool  hat  to  give 
emphasis  to  his  speech.  "Popsy  Spout  is  my 
gran'pap  on  my  mammy's  side.  My  mammy 
died  soon  an'  Popsy  raised  me  up.  He  always 
toted  a  big  hick'ry  cane  an'  he  raised  me  pretty 
frequent.  One  day  he  promise  me  a  whalin'  an' 
I  snooped  ten  dollars  outen  his  money-bag  an' 
skunt  out  f er  Tickf all.  Dat  was  twenty  year  ago. ' ' 


4  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

"You  reckin'  Popsy  is  comin'  to  colleck  up?" 
Skeeter  snickered. 

"Naw,  suh.  I  figger  dat  Popsy  is  gittin'  ole 
an*  lonesome  an'  tuck  up  a  notion  to  come  an* 
pay  me  a  little  visit." 

"How  long  will  he  stay  on? "  Skeeter  asked. 

"I  kinder  think  he  thinks  he'll  stay  on  till  he 
dies,"  Figger  announced  in  tragic  tones,  as  he  pro 
duced  a  soiled  letter  and  held  it  out  to  Skeeter. 
"Read  dis,  an'  see  kin  you  find  any  yuther  hopes 
in  whut  he  do  say." 

Skeeter  took  the  letter  out  of  the  envelope  and? 
read  it  aloud,  giving  the  peculiar  African  pronuncia 
tion  to  the  words  as  he  spoke  them: 

"DEAR  FIGGER: 

Dis  letter  will  kotch  you  jes'  befo'  I  gits  off  en  de 
train  at  Tickfall.  I  wus  raised  an'  bawn  in  de  Little 
Mocassin  Swamp,  an'  I  wants  to  come  home  an'  live 
wid  you  till  I  die.  I  needs  somebody  of  my  kinnery 
aroun'  so  I  won't  git  so  lonesome.  Good-by.  I'm 
comin'  powerful  soon. 

POPSY  SPOUT.  " 

Skeeter  handed  the  letter  back  with  a  look  of 
deep  sympathy  and  pity. 

"Bad  luck,  Figger,"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed. 
"You  cain't  mo'  dan  half  suppote  yo'  se'f,  an'  now 
you  done  got  a  ready-made  gran 'pap  to  suppote. 
A  nigger  kin  git  mighty  ole  an'  deef,  but  he  always 
hears  de  dinner-horn." 

"Dat's  right,"  Figger  wailed.  "Whut  muss 
I  do?" 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  5 

"Don't  start  squealin'  like  a  pig  kotch  in  a  gap, " 
Skeeter  snapped,  as  he  passed  around  a  box  of 
cigarettes.  "Smoke  one  of  dese  an'  ease  down 
yo'  mind  a  little." 

"Whut  muss  I  do?"  Figger  wailed  again. 

"Vinegar,  you  ax  'terrogations  while  I  medjer- 
tates, "  Skeeter  proposed,  as  he  leaned  his  chair 
back  against  the  tree. 

"When  did  you  perceive  dis  here  Popsy  las', 
Figger  ? ' '  Vinegar  inquired. 

"More'n  twenty  year  ago." 

"Whut  do  he  look  like?" 

"He  looks  like  a  black  nigger.  I  s'pose  he's 
bleached  out  some  in  de  las'  twenty  year." 

"Is  you  ever  heard  any  word  from  him  befo'?" 

"Naw,  suh.    Word  ain't  been  sont." 

"How  do  Popsy  know  you  is  still  livin'?" 
Vinegar  inquired. 

"Huh!"  Skeeter  Butts  grunted,  as  he  suddenly 
sat  up  and  slapped  his  hand  upon  his  knee.  '  *  Dat's 
de  very  idear  I  needs!" 

"Whut?"  Vinegar  asked. 

"Figger  Bush  will  be  dead  when  Popsy  comes," 
Skeeter  snickered.  "Dead  an'  buried!" 

"Not  ef  I  kin  he'p  it!"  Figger  announced,  as 
he  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  frightened  air.  "You 
got  to  ketch  a  nigger  fust  befo'  you  kin  dead  an* 
bury  him." 

"Set  down,  Figger!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  "Yo' 
gran 'pap  on  yo'  mammy's  side  didn't  inherit  you 
no  brains!  Dis  here  is  a  good  plan  to  git  you  out 
of  trouble." 


6  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

"Tell  it  to  me  slow,"  Figger  begged,  as  he  re 
sumed  his  seat  on  the  ground.  "I  don't  favor  no 
plan  havin'  a  dead  Figger  Bush  in  it." 

"Listen,  Figger!"  Skeeter  urged.  "I  wants 
you  to  pick  out  a  nice-lookin'  nigger  gal  whut 
could  play  like  she  wus  yo'  widder." 

"Suttinly, "  Figger  grinned,  beginning  to  see  the 
light.  "Scootie  Tandy  could  play  widder.  She's 
been  one  about  two  year — all  de  nigger  mens  run 
after  her  tryin'  to  pussuade  her  to  fergit  her  spite 
an'  marry  agin.  I  could  git  her  to  play  widder." 

"Dat'll  put  an  eend  to  yo'  mis'ry, "  Skeeter 
cackled.  "Go  tell  Scootie  all  yo'  trouble,  ax 
Scootie  to  meet  de  train  dat  Popsy  comes  on,  an* 
bust  de  sad  news  to  him  dat  you  is  dead  an* 
buried!" 

"Mebbe  Popsy  won't  b'lieve  her,"  Figger 
objected. 

"Me  an'  Vinegar  will  back  her  up  in  dat  tale, " 
Skeeter  assured  him.  ' '  De  revun  elder  won't  mind 
st  ret  chin'  de  blanket  a  little  fer  de  sake  of  savin'  a 
friend.  Ain't  dat  so,  Revun?" 

"Dat's  so!"  Vinegar  declared.  "My  life  job 
an'  my  callin'  is  savin'  niggers!" 

"Whar  muss  I  git  to  while  I'm  bein'  dead?" 
Figger  inquired. 

"Go  fishin',"  Skeeter  grinned.  "Fishin'  is  de 
best  spote  on  y earth  fer  de  livin'  an'  de  dead!" 

"How  long  am  I  got  to  stay  dead?"  Figger 
asked. 

"When  de  ole  man  Popsy  hears  tell  dat  you  is 
gone  hence  an'  ain't  no  mo,'  he'll  take  his  foot  in 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  7 

his  hand  an'  ramble  back  to  Yalabam', "  Vinegar 
rumbled.  "Dat'll  be  yo'  sing  to  come  fo'th  from 
dedead!" 

Figger  put  on  his  battered  hat  and  stood  up. 
He  asked  pleadingly: 

"Couldn't  you  loant  a  dead  man  half  a  dollar, 
Skeeter?" 

"Whut  you  want  wid  it?"  Skeeter  snapped. 

"I  figger  dat  a  real  live  corp'  oughter  git  a  hair 
cut  an'  a  shave!"  Figger  chuckled. 

"Dat's  right,"  Skeeter  laughed,  as  he  handed 
out  the  money.  "You  scoot  over  an'  see  Scootie 
right  now!" 

Scootie  Tandy  was  a  fat,  good-natured  young 
woman,  who  wore  red  head-rags,  wrapped  up  her 
kinky  hair  with  strings  to  give  it  a  better  kink, 
and  had  no  higher  object  in  life  than  to  be  regular 
at  her  meals. 

She  had  worn  deep  mourning  for  over  a  year  for 
a  worthless  husband  whose  death  had  been  advan 
tageous  to  her  in  that  it  gave  her  an  excuse  for 
doing  even  less  work  than  she  had  done  when  he 
was  living. 

"It  'pears  like  I  ain't  been  well  an'  strong  sence 
Jim  died  an'  lef  me  to  'tend  to  eve'ything, "  she 
whined  at  the  kitchen  doors  of  the  white  people, 
to  aid  her  plea  for  food  and  old  clothes. 

Figger  believed  he  was  in  love  with  Scootie, 
and  Scootie  made  eyes  at  him,  but  Skeeter  said  they 
were  not  thinking  about  marrying.  He  declared 
they  were  merely  watching  each  other  to  see  which 


8  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

could  live  longest  without  work  and  without  land 
ing  in  jail  for  vagrancy. 

"Scootie,"  Figger  began,  "you  don't  mind 
playin'  a  widder,  does  you?" 

"Naw, "  Scootie  told  him.  "Men  is  a  heap 
mo'  int 'rusted  in  deir  minds  'bout  widders  dan  dey 
is  'bout  gals,  pervidin'  ef  de  widders  ain't  got  no 
nigger  chillun  crawlin'  on  de  cabin  flo'." 

"Would  you  mind  bein'  my  widder?"  Figger 
inquired  hesitatingly. 

"I'd  like  it,"  Scootie  laughed.  "Is  you  aimin' 
to  die  real  soon?" 

"I  passes  off  powerful  soon,"  Figger  grinned. 

Then  Figger  told  her  of  his  troubles,  and  ex 
plained  what  he  wanted  her  to  do. 

"My  ole  gran 'pap  won't  hab  no  easy  job  at- 
tachin'  hisse'f  onto  me,"  Figger  announced  in 
conclusion.  "Dis  here  corp'  is  gwine  keep  movin' 
his  remainders  somewhar  else." 

"Whut  train  is  Popsy  comin'  on?"  Scootie 
asked. 

"He'll  be  here  on  de  dinner-time  train,  I  think, " 
Figger  replied.  "You  go  down  an'  meet  dat  train, 
an'  ef  he  comes  you  pass  him  back  onto  de  caboose 
an'  tell  him  to  keep  trabbelin'." 

"When  muss  I  tell  him  you  died?"  Scootie 
asked. 

"Gwine  on  a  year!"  Figger  suggested. 

"Whut  did  you  die  of?" 

"Two  buckles  on  de  lungs, "  Figger  told  her. 

"Wus  you  sick  very  long?"  Scootie  asked. 

"Yes'm.    Tell  him  I  wus  feelin'  feeble  an'  not 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  9 

able  to  wuck  none  fer  about  fo'teen  year,  which 
is  how  come  I  ain't  leave  no  property, "  Figger 
declared. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  picture  of  yo'se'f  fer  me  to 
set  on  de  mantelpiece  an'  cry  at? "  Scootie  asked. 

"Suttinly, "  Figger  said,  as  he  slipped  his  hand 
into  his  coat -pocket  and  brought  out  a  cheap 
photograph.  "Dis  am  de  best  koodak  I'm  ever 
had  took — it  shows  off  my  mustache  so  good! 
Don't  dem  lip-whiskers  look  nachel?" 

"Dey  shore  do  sot  off  yo'  face, "  Scootie  replied, 
as  she  studied  the  photograph  and  considered  all 
the  information  Figger  had  given  her.  Finally 
Scootie  asked :  • 

"S'pose  Popsy  don't  b'lieve  all  dese  tales?" 

"'Tain't  no  danger,"  Figger  answered.  "I'll 
make  myse'f  absent,  an'  Skeeter  an'  Vinegar  will 
back  you  up." 

"All  right,  Figger,"  Scootie  grinned.  "I'll 
gib  you  a  lift -out.  I  don't  mind  succulatin' 
de  repote  dat  you  is  dead ;  some  folks  will  be  dum 
glad  to  hear  it!" 

"Bein'  dead  ain't  such  awful  bad  luck,"  Figger 
laughed.  "I  done  promise  de  white  folks  to  do 
about  fawty  jobs  of  wuck,  an'  dem  whites  keeps  me 
a  dodgin'  like  a  bumpin'-bug.  Furdermo',  I  owes 
a  heap  money  in  dis  here  town  whut  I  don't  never 
expeck  to  pay  back,  an'  my  tongue  gits  dry  tellin' 
how  soon  I  hopes  to  wuck  an'  make  some  cash 
money.  Bless  Gawd,  dead  niggers  like  me  cain't 
wuck  an'  cain't  pay — dey  got  to  charge  all  my 
debts  to  de  dust  an'  let  de  rain  settle  'em!" 


io  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

"My  stomick  tells  me  dat  de  dinner-time  train 
is  mighty  nigh  here,  Figger, ' '  Scootie  said.  ' '  You 
better  git  away  an'  let  me  dress  up  accawdin'  to 
dis  here  sad  succumstance." 

"Dis  is  whar  I  disappears  complete,  Scootie," 
Figger  grinned,  as  he  stepped  off  the  porch.  ' '  I 
hope  you  won't  slight  yo'  mournin'  fer  me  atter 
I'm  gone." 

Then  Scootie  prepared  herself  to  meet  the 
train — a  black  dress,  black  gloves,  a  long  black 
veil  over  a  purple  and  yellow  hat  with  a  poll- 
parrot  on  it,  a  palm-leaf  fan,  the  edge  appro 
priately  encircled  with  black  braid,  and  a  white 
handkerchief  with  a  broad  border.  She  looked 
at  herself  in  the  mirror  and  smiled  with  satis 
faction. 

"I's  gwine  wear  mournin'  all  my  life,"  she 
announced  to  herself.  "It  makes  my  complexion 
mo' fair." 

When  the  train  pulled  into  the  station,  Scootie 
was  standing  near  the  negro  coach,  looking  for  a 
man  who  resembled  Figger's  description  of  Popsy 
Spout  as  he  remembered  his  grandfather  after 
twenty  years.  Only  one  negro  passenger  got  off, 
and  Scootie  merely  glanced  at  him  and  waited  for 
some  one  else. 

When  the  train  pulled  out,  Scootie  turned,  and 
the  negro  passenger  was  standing  close  beside  her 
on  the  platform. 

"Is  you  lookin'  fer  somebody?"  Scootie  asked. 
"I  knows  eve'ybody  in  dis  town." 

Then  Scootie  got  a  surprise. 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  n 

"Yes'm, "  the  man  answered,  in  a  weak,  tired 
voice.  "I  wus  expeckin'  Figger  Bush." 

Scootie  reeled  back  and  glared  at  the  speaker 
with  popping  eyeballs. 

He  stood  before  her,  over  six  feet  tall  and  as 
straight  as  an  Indian.  His  face  was  as  black  as  new 
tar  and  was  seamed  by  a  thousand  tiny  wrinkles, 
written  all  over  with  the  literature  of  life  and  ex 
perience.  His  long  hair  was  as  white  as  milk,  and 
his  two  wrinkled  and  withered  hands  rested  upon 
a  patriarchal  staff  nearly  as  tall  as  himself. 

On  his  head  was  a  stove-pipe  hat,  bell-shaped, 
the  nap  long  since  thrown  off  like  an  outworn 
garment,  and  the  top  of  the  hat  was  as  red  as  a 
brick  from  exposure  to  the  weather.  An  old,  faded, 
threadbare  and  patched  Prince  Albert  coat  swathed 
his  emaciated  form  like  a  bath-robe. 

Instantly  Scootie  knew  that  this  man  belonged 
to  that  vanishing  race  of  negroes  who  were  the 
glory  and  the  pride  of  the  South  in  the  ante-bellum 
days.  They  cling  like  vines  around  the  old  home 
steads,  cared  for  and  protected  by  men  who  were 
once  their  white  masters,  and  when  they  die,  more 
white  people  attend  their  funerals  than  members 
of  their  own  race. 

Only  one  thing  denoted  that  age  had  left  a 
blight  upon  the  dignified  form  of  Popsy  Spout, 
and  that  mark  was  in  his  eyes:  the  vacant,  age- 
dimmed  stare  of  second  childhood,  indicating  that 
reason  no  longer  sat  regnant  upon  the  crystal 
throne  of  the  intellect,  looking  out  of  the  windows 
of  the  soul. 


12  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

"I's  powerful  glad  to  meet  a  young  gal  like  you, 
honey,"  he  said  in  the  high  falsetto  of  old  age. 
"Figger  is  missed  meetin'  me  some  way.  He 
always  wus  a  mos'  onreliable  piccaninny.  I's  had 
a  long  trip.  My  name  is  Popsy  Spout." 

This  was  Scootie's  cue  to  turn  on  the  water 
works.  She  brought  out  her  black-bordered 
handkerchief  and  began  to  weep. 

"I  wus  lookin'  fer  you,  Popsy,"  she  sobbed. 
"Poor Digger  Bush  is  dead  an'  I's  his  widder!" 

"How's  dat — which?"  the  old  man  quavered. 

"Dead!  Plum*  dead— dead  an'  buried!" 
Scootie  wailed. 

1 '  Did  he  die  layin'  down  ? "  the  old  man  asked. 

1 '  Yes,  suh.    He  died  nachel. ' ' 

"Huh!"  the  old  man  snorted.  "Dat  suttinly 
is  strange.  I  never  predick  no  sech  come-out  fer 
Figger — how  come  de  white  folks  didn't  shoot 
him  or  hang  him?  He  shore  deeserved  it!" 

' '  Boo-hoo ! ' '  Scootie  wailed. 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  the  old  man  snapped,  in  high, 
shrill  tones.  "Figger  didn't  never  amount  to 
nothin'  nohow.  I  know  it's  all  fer  de  best,  an'  ef 
you  had  de  sense  Gawd  gibs  to  a  crazy  geese,  you'd 
be  dum  glad  he's  a  deader!" 

"Mebbe  so,  suh,"  Scootie  mourned,  "but  I 
shore  miss  him  a-plenty." 

"Of  co'se!"  Popsy  exploded.  "You  miss  de 
stomick-ache,  too,  but  'tain't  resomble  to  howl 
because  you  ain't  got  it.  It's  proper  to  miss 
pestications  but  'tain't  good  sense  to  mourn  deir 
loss.  How  long  is  Figger  been  dead?" 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  13 

"'Bout  a  year,"  Scootie  sobbed. 

"By  jacks!"  Popsy  snorted.  "Been  dead  a 
year  an'  here  you  is  all  blacked  up  in  mournin' 
like  a  bucket  of  tar.  Shut  up!  Whut  you  so 
crazy  'bout  a  dead  nigger  fer?" 

Thus  importuned,  Scootie  saw  that  she  was 
wasting  her  tears  on  Figger  as  far  as  Popsy  was 
concerned. 

"Whar  is  you  gwine  now?"  Scootie  inquired 
in  a  voice  which  showed  that  she  had  found 
comfort. 

"I's  aimin'  to  ooze  along  over  to  yo'  house 
an'  git  my  dinner,"  Popsy  told  her.  "Which 
way  does  we  start?" 

"Figger  would  shore  be  mighty  sorry  to  miss 
yo'  visit  ef  he  wus  alive  an'  knowed  about  it," 
Scootie  remarked  as  she  led  the  way  to  her  cabin. 

"'Tain't  so!"  Popsy  snapped,  as  he  strode  along 
beside  her,  resting  one  hand  upon  her  fat  shoulder 
and  the  other  on  his  staff.  "Dat  nigger  ain't 
never  missed  nothin'  but  a  good  whalin' — I  prom 
ised  him  a  lickin'  twenty  year  ago  an'  he  runned 
away.  He  ain't  never  come  back." 

This  speech  had  a  sing-song  swing  to  it,  as  if  it 
was  a  complaint  which  he  had  repeated  for  many 
years  whenever  Figger's  name  was  mentioned. 

"He  ain't  never  come  back  to  git  his  wallupin', " 
the  old  man  repeated. 

Scootie  snickered 

"Dat  sounds  right!"  Popsy  applauded,  patting 
the  fat  shoulder  which  supported  one  of  his  with 
ered  hands.  "'Tain't  no  use  to  shed  tears  over 


14  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

Figger.  Livin'  or  dead,  he  don't  deeserve  nothin' 
but  a  big  bust -out  laugh." 

"I's  glad  you  feels  dat  way  about  it,  Popsy, " 
Scootie  chuckled.  "You  shore  has  cheered  me 
up  some  an'  eased  my  mind  a-plenty." 

"You  got  any  fryin'-size  chickin  at  yo'  cabin?" 
Popsy  asked. 

"Yep.  I  kin  cook  'em  so  you'll  wanter  die 
wid  a  chicken  bone  in  yo'  hand,  too,"  Scootie 
told  him.  "An'  as  fur  my  hot  biskits — you'll 
want  one  of  my  hot  biskits  carved  on  yo'  tomb 
stone!" 

"Kin  you  affode  to  keep  ice-water?" 

"Yep.  A  driver  on  de  ice- wagon  is  courtin' 
me  servigerous  an'  he  slips  me  a  free  chunk  eve'y 
day." 

"Dat's  good  sense,"  Popsy  told  her.  "Is  you 
got  any  objections  to  my  chawin'  all  de  eatin' 
terbacker  I  wants  to?" 

"Naw,  suh, "  Scootie  giggled.  "Figger  chawed." 

"Does  you  maintain  a  jug?"  Popsy  wanted  to 
know. 

"I  does;  an'  it's  passable  full,  too." 

"I  bet  it  splashed  pretty  low  when  Figger  wus 
livin',"  Popsy  bleated.  "When  I  wus  fotchin' 
up  dat  piccaninny  he  jes'  nachelly  graduated  to'des 
a  jug  like  all  de  buzzards  in  de  settlemint  comin' 
to  a  mule's  fun'ral!" 

"Bar's  my  cabin — over  yon."    Scootie  pointed. 

The  walk  had  wearied  the  old  man,  and  it 
required  all  of  Scootie 's  strength  to  lift  him  up 
the  steps  to  a  rocking-chair  upon  the  porch.  She 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  15 

brought  him  out  a  turkey-wing  fan,  a  twist  of 
chewing-tobacco,  and  a  pipe  which  had  belonged 
to  her  deceased  husband.  Then  she  thought  of 
Figger's  photograph,  and  she  handed  that  to  him. 

But  the  aged  man's  mind  had  suddenly  gone 
blank  because  of  his  physical  weakness,  exhausted 
by  his  long  walk. 

"Whut  you  gimme  dis  here  little  card  fer, 
Scootie?"  he  asked  perplexedly. 

"Dat's  a  picture  of  Figger,  Popsy!"  Scootie 
exclaimed,  turning  it  so  he  could  see  the  face. 

"Figger  who?"  Popsy  inquired. 

"Figger  Bush,  Popsy,"  Scootie  told  him  in  a 
patient  tone.  "Yo'  little  Figger — my  dead  hus- 
bunt — don't  you  remember  Figger!" 

"Is  dat  so?"  the  old  man  asked  in  uncertain 
tones.  He  held  the  card  up  and  looked  at  the 
photograph  for  a  long  time. 

"Whut  you  think  about  him,  Popsy?"  Scootie 
asked. 

"Dat  dead  nigger's  face  an'  head  shore  growed 
strong  on  hair  an'  whiskers, "  Popsy  quavered,  as 
he  laid  the  photograph  in  the  crown  of  his  up 
turned  stove-pipe  hat,  "like  a  damp  marsh — don't 
grow  nothin'  but  rank  grass!" 

"Dat  was  de  way  Figger  wus, "  Scootie  laughed. 
"His  head  wus  shore  kinder  soft  an'  oozy." 

"When  is  we  gwine  git  our  dinner,  Scootie?" 
the  old  man  demanded. 

"Right  now!"  Scootie  told  him. 

"All  right!"  Popsy  said,  as  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair.  "You  call  me  when  she's  ready.  Feed 


16  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

me  chicken  an'  hot  biskits  an'  ice-water — lemme 
taper  off  wid  a  dram  an'  a  leetle  nap — den  I  want 
you  to  lead  me  to  de  bank  whar  Marse  Tommy 
Gaitskill  stays  at.  Lawd!  Lawd!  I  ain't  sot 
my  eyes  on  little  Tommy  fer  fifty  year!" 

At  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  Scootie  conducted 
Popsy  Spout  through  the  door  of  the  Tickfall 
National  Bank,  down  a  corridor  in  the  rear  of  the 
big  vault,  and  knocked  upon  a  door  which  bore  in 
dainty  gold  lettering  the  word:  " President." 

In  response  to  a  voice  within  she  opened  the 
door  and  pushed  Popsy  Spout  forward. 

Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill  sat  beside  a  table  in  a 
swivel  chair,  a  tall,  handsome  man  with  the  air  of 
a  soldier,  ruddy-faced,  white-haired,  genial,  and 
smiling.  Gaitskill's  fine  eyes  took  him  in  with  a 
photographic  glance. 

The  old  negro  stood  before  him,  immaculately 
neat,  though  his  garments  were  ragged  and  time- 
worn.  Dignity  sat  upon  his  aged  form  like  virtue 
upon  a  venerable  Roman  senator.  Indeed,  there 
flashed  through  the  banker's  mind  the  thought 
that  men  like  this  one  who  stood  before  him  might 
have  sat  in  the  Carthaginian  council  of  war  and 
planned  the  campaign  which  led  young  Hannibal 
to  the  declivities  of  the  Alps  where  his  horde  of 
Africans  hung  like  a  storm-cloud  while  Imperial 
Rome  trembled  with  fear  behind  the  protection 
of  her  walls. 

Then  fifty  years  rolled  backward  like  a  scroll. 

Gaitskill  saw  a  blood-strewn  battlefield  torn  with 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  17 

shot  and  shell;  he  saw  clouds  of  smoke,  black, 
acrid,  strangling  to  the  throat,  rolling  over  that 
field  as  fogs  blow  in  from  the  sea;  he  saw  a  tall, 
young,  black  man  emerge  from  such  a  pall  of 
smoke  carrying  a  sixteen-year-old  boy  dressed  in 
the  bloody  uniform  of  a  Confederate  soldier. 
The  young  soldier's  arms  and  legs  dangled  against 
the  negro's  giant  form  as  he  walked,  stepping  over 
the  slippery,  shot-plowed  ground.  He  saw  the 
negro  stagger  with  his  burden  to  an  old  sycamore 
tree  and  lay  the  inanimate  form  upon  the  ground 
at  its  roots,  composing  the  limbs  of  the  boy  with 
beautiful  tenderness;  then  he  saw  the  negro 
straighten  up  and  gather  into  his  giant  paws  a 
broken  branch  of  a  tree  which  two  men  could 
hardly  have  handled. 

Waving  this  limb  at  the  creeping  pall  of  smoke, 
he  screamed  like  a  jungle  beast,  and  whooped: 
11  You  dam'  Yanks,  keep  away  from  dis  little  white 
boy — you  done  him  a-plenty — he's  dead!" 

Gaitskill  stood  up  and  stepped  forward.  He 
held  out  a  strong  white  hand,  clasping  the  palsied 
brown  paw  of  Popsy  Spout.  No  white  man  ever 
received  a  warmer  greeting,  a  more  cordial  welcome 
than  this  feeble  black  man,  aged,  worn,  tottering 
through  the  mazy  dreamland  of  second  childhood. 

Unnoticed,  Scootie  Tandy  walked  to  a  window 
and  seated  herself. 

The  two  old  men  sat  down  beside  the  table  and 
Scootie  listened  for  two  hours  to  reminiscences 
which  went  back  over  half  a  century.  Frequently 
Popsy  Spout's  mind  wandered,  and  Gaitskill  gave 


1 8  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

him  a  gentle  stimulant  of  liquor,  as  thoughtful  of 
the  darky's  waning  strength  as  a  courtier  would 
be  of  the  comfort  of  a  king. 

"How  old  are  you  now,  Popsy?"  Gaitskill 
smiled,  after  they  had  talked  of  old  times. 

"Fs  sebenty  year  old — gwine  on  a  hundred." 

"Do  you  really  expect  to  live  that  long?" 
Gaitskill  asked. 

"Yes,  suh,  ef  de  white  folks  takes  good  keer 
of  me, "  Popsy  answered. 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a 
bulky  package,  tied  up  with  many  pieces  of  many- 
colored  string. 

"Dat's  my  money,  Marse  Tommy.  Please  un- 
wrop  it  an'  count  it  out  loud  fer  me." 

Gaitskill  poured  the  currency  and  coins  upon 
the  table  and  with  a  money-handler's  expert  ease, 
he  counted  it  aloud,  announcing  the  total  in  about 
a  minute : 

"One  thousand  dollars!" 

Scootie  Tandy  gasped  like  a  woman  who  had 
been  under  water  for  about  five  minutes  and  had 
just  come  up,  but  neither  of  the  men  noticed  her. 

Popsy  Spout  hesitated  a  minute,  scratched 
his  snow-white  hair,  and  looked  at  the  neat  piles 
of  money  with  an  air  of  perplexity. 

"Isn't  that  correct?"  Gaitskill  asked. 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  c'reck,  "  Popsy  said  uncertainly. 
"Dat's  de  same  number  I  got  when  I  counted 
it,  but  somepin  is  powerful  strange  'bout  dat 
money." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Gaitskill  asked. 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  19 

"You  counted  it  so  quick,  Marse  Tommy!" 

"Well— I  counted  it  right,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes,  suh,  but — I  reckin'  it's  all  right,  Marse 
Tommy.  But,  you  see,  it  tuck  me  five  whole 
days  to  count  dat  money  an'  it  wus  de  hardest 
wuck  I  ever  done — I  sweated  barrels  of  sweat! 
It  'peared  like  a  whole  big  pile,  when  I  counted 
it.  But  ef  I  spends  it  as  quick  as  you  counted  it, 
'twon't  las'  me  till  I  kin  walk  outen  dis  here  bank ! " 

"I  understand,"  Gaitskill  smiled.  "But  you 
don't  want  to  spend  this  money.  How  long  did 
it  take  you  to  accumulate  it?" 

"Fawty  year,"  Popsy  told  him.  "Bad  times 
comes  frequent  to  a  nigger,  an*  I  wanted  to  save 
a  leetle  ahead." 

1 '  The  idea  is  to  take  as  long  spending  it  as  you 
did  accumulating  it,"  Gaitskill  said.  "In  that 
case,  it  will  last  you  until  you  have  passed  one 
hundred." 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  de  properest  way  to  do," 
Popsy  agreed.  "Dat's  why  I  fotch  dis  money  to 
you.  Kin  you  keep  it  fer  me?" 

"Certainly.     That's  what  this  bank  is  for." 

"Marse  Jimmy  Gaitskill  over  in  Burningham — 
his  bank  paid  me  int'rust  prannum  on  dat  money, " 
Popsy  said. 

"I'll  pay  you  interest  per  annum,  too,"  Gaits- 
kill  smiled,  well  knowing  that  his  brother  had 
supported  Popsy  Spout  for  half  a  century.  '  *  How 
much  money  will  you  need  to  live  on  each  year?" 

"I  kin  git  along  on  'bout  ten  dollars  a  month, 
Marse  Tommy — wid  de  clothes  an'  vittles  dat  de 


20  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

white  folks  gimme.  I  kin  save  a  little  out  of  dat 
to  'posit  back  in  de  bank  fer  rainy  days." 

"That's  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  a  year 
with  clothes  and  food, ' '  Gait  skill  laughed.  * '  Some 
of  the  bank's  patrons  would  like  to  get  that  much 
interest  per  annum." 

"Yes,  suh.  Marse  Jimmy  Gaitskill  specified 
dat  my  nigger  money  drawed  powerful  int'rust 
outen  his  bank." 

"You  can  come  here  and  draw  ten  dollars  every 
month,"  Gaitskill  said,  and  he  picked  up  a  card 
and  wrote  a  few  words  upon  it. 

"Dat '11  fix  me  fine,  Marse  Tommy.  I  kin  live 
scrumpshus  on  dat." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  live?" 

"I  ain't  got  nowhar  yit, "  Popsy  said. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  in  the  log  cabin  where 
you  lived  fifty-five  years  ago?"  Gaitskill  inquired. 

"Whar  I  married  at?  Whar  me  an'  Ca'lline 
live  happy  till  all  us  boys  went  off  to  de  war? 
Whar  you  an'  me  an'  Marse  Jimmy  an'  little  Hinry 
useter  roast  goobers  in  de  hot  ash?"  Popsy  asked 
eagerly. 

"The  very  same,"  Gaitskill  answered  softly. 
"With  the  big  pecan  tree  still  standing  before  it, 
and  the  big  stone  door-step  where  we  boys  cracked 
the  nuts." 

Popsy  Spout  rose  to  his  feet  and  bowed  like 
some  aged  patriarch  standing  in  the  presence  of 
a  king.  His  high,  quavering  voice  sobbed  like 
the  wailing  of  a  child : 

"Marse  Tommy,  de  Gaitskill  fambly  is  de  top 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  21 

of  de  heap  fer  kindness  an'  goodness  to  dis  pore  ole 
nigger!" 

He  sank  back  into  his  chair,  wiping  the  tears 
from  his  eyes. 

"I  guess  so,"  Gaitskill  said,  and  his  voice  was 
so  soft  that  each  word  was  like  a  caress.  "We  all 
remember  Henry." 

"Dat's  so,  suh, "  Popsy  said,  suddenly  straighten 
ing  his  bent  and  quivering  shoulders.  "Marse 
Jimmy  is  told  me  frequent  'bout  you  an'  him  gwine 
up  dar  an'  findin'  Hinry  under  dat  sycamo'  tree 
whar  I  buried  him  at.  I's  glad  you  fotch  him 
back  home  an'  buried  him  wid  his  own  folks." 

"Yes,  we'll  walk  out  to  his  grave  together  some 
day, "  Gaitskill  murmured. 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  He  looked 
out  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and  handed  Popsy 
the  card  on  which  he  had  written  a  few  minutes 
before. 

"I'll  see  you  often,  Popsy,"  he  said.  "Your 
old  cabin  is  still  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  by  the  old 
spring.  It's  unoccupied — move  in  as  soon  as 
you  please." 

"Whut  is  dis,  Marse  Tommy?"  Popsy  asked, 
as  he  looked  curiously  at  the  folded  paper. 

"It's  an  order  on  my  store  for  food,"  Gaitskill 
said.  "You  can  draw  some  groceries  every  Satur 
day  night.  That's  part  of  the  interest  per  annum, 
you  know." 

"Bless  Gawd!"  Popsy  Spout  quacked.  "Ten 
dollars  a  month  wages  an'  reg'lar  rations  eve'y 
Saddy  night!  You  shore  is  a  noble  white  man, 


22  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

Marse  Tommy!  Come  on,  Scootie.  Us'll  git 
gwine  befo'  we  gits  happy  an'  gits  to  shoutin'  an', 
bust  up  all  de  furnisher  in  dis  white  man's  bank!" 

"My  Lawd,  Figger  Bush!"  Skeeter  Butts 
exclaimed,  as  his  friend  entered  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon.  "You  look  like  a  skint  mule." 

"I  done  disguised  myse'f!"  Figger  grinned  as 
he  took  off  his  battered  wool  hat. 

Figger's  famous  shoe-brush  mustache  was  gone, 
and  his  head  was  shaved  until  it  was  as  smooth 
and  slick  as  a  black  piano  key. 

"Whut  you  did  yo'se'f  so  funny  fer?"  Skeeter 
demanded,  as  Figger  smiled  and  revealed  a  row  of 
teeth  like  new  tombstones. 

"I  decided  to  stay  in  town  an'  be  a  corp', " 
Figger  explained,  "so  I  had  myse'f  fixed  up  so  dat 
not  even  my  widder  would  know  me." 

"Is  you  seed  Popsy  yit?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"Yep.  I  hid  behime  de  cornder  of  de  deppo 
when  de  train  trundled  in,  an'  Popsy  dismounted 
off.  Scootie  cried  an'  tuck  on  consid'able,  an'  I 
wus  plum'  satisfied  wid  de  results." 

"Did  Popsy  'pear  much  broke  up?"  Skeeter 
inquired. 

"I  couldn't  tell  'bout  dat,"  Figger  chuckled. 
"Scootie  tuck  him  to  her  cabin  fer  dinner  an'  I 
seed  'em  walkin'  aroun'  town — I  s'pose  dey  is 
huntin'  fer  my  grave." 

"How  do  bein'  a  corp'  feel  like — so  fur?" 
Skeeter  snickered. 

"'Tain't    so    bad,"     Figger    remarked.      "It 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  23 

mought  be  better  ef  de  town  would  take  a  notion 
to  gib  me  a  fust-class  fun'ral.  Of  co'se,  de  Tickfall 
quawtette  would  hab  to  sing,  an'  I's  de  male  ser- 
pranner  in  dat  quawtette.  It  would  be  a  real  nice 
somepin  new  fer  a  corp'  to  sing  at  his  own  fun'ral." 

"Mebbe  us  could  git  de  Nights  of  Darkness  to 
hold  a  lodge  of  sorrer  on  you,  "  Skeeter  cackled. 

"Ef  dey  does,  I  wants  to  sing  my  new  solo 
'bout  'Locked  in  de  stable  wid  de  sheep, '  "  Figger 
announced. 

"Whut  about  de  death  ben'fit?"  Skeeter 
inquired.  '  *  Is  you  gwine  apply  fer  dat  ? ' ' 

"Naw, "  Figger  laughed.  "Ef  de  cormittee 
'vestigates  an'  repotes  me  dead,  dey  kin  gib  dat 
ben'fit  to  Popsy." 

At  this  point  the  green -baize  doors  of  the  saloon 
were  pushed  open  and  Scootie  Tandy  blew  in 
quivering  with  excitement. 

"Whut's  up,  Scootie?"  Skeeter  exclaimed, 
springing  to  his  feet. 

"Gawd  pity  you,  Figger!"  Scootie  howled  in 
tragic  tones.  "You  made  a  awful  mistake  in 
gwine  dead  so  suddent!" 

"Which  way?"  Figger  asked  in  a  frightened 
voice. 

"I  went  to  de  bank  wid  Popsy  Spout  an'  found 
out  dat  Popsy  an'  Marse  Tom  Gait  skill  is  kinnery !" 
Scootie  gushed  forth. 

"Hear  dat,  now ! "  Skeeter  exclaimed  in  a  voice 
of  wonder. 

"Popsy  gib  Marse  Tom  a  wad  of  money  dat  it 
took  Popsy  five  days  to  count!"  Scootie  ranted. 


24  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

''Oh,  my  Lawd!"  Figger  wailed. 

"Marse  Tom  gib  Popsy  one  hundred  an*  twenty 
dollars  int'rust  prannum  on  his  money,  an*  a 
awder  on  de  sto' -house  fer  reg'lar  rations,  an'  a 
cabin  to  live  in!"  Scootie  squalled. 

"My  gawsh!"  Figger  bleated  in  dismay.  ''I 
done  busted  a  egg  on  my  own  doorstep  an'  hoo 
dooed  my  own  se'f !" 

"Dat's  whut  you  done,  Figger!"  Scootie  howled. 
' '  I  tole  Popsy  real  prompt  dat  he  needed  a  nuss  an' 
housekeeper  in  his  ole  age,  an'  as  Figger 's  widder 
I  wus  lawfully  lected  to  dat  job,  an'  he  tuck  me 
up  right  now!" 

"Oh -huh!"  Figger  grunted  in  despair. 

"Me  an'  Popsy  is  gwine  move  in  de  ole  log  hut 
behime  Marse  Tom's  house  to-morrer, "  Scootie 
exulted.  "Ten  dollars  per  month  an'  reg'lar 
vittles,  chicken  an'  pie — I  won't  never  hab  to 
wuck  no  more." 

"Lawdymussy!"  Figger  sighed. 

"Good-by,  niggers!"  Scootie  exclaimed  in  a 
happy  voice.  "I  won't  never  reckernize  you -alls 
no  mo' — I  draws  a  pension!" 

She  swept  out  of  the  house  and  left  two  men 
struck  speechless  by  the  information  she  brought. 

A  moment  later  they  were  interrupted  again. 
Vinegar  Atts  plowed  through  the  swinging  doors, 
puffing  like  a  steam-boat  and  sweating  like  an 
ice-pitcher. 

"Whar  kin  I  find  Brudder  Popsy  Spout, 
Skeeter?"  he  bellowed.  "I  wants  to  Vite  him  to 
jine  de  Shoofly  chu'ch  an*  set  heavy  in  de  amen 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  25 

cornder.  Dat's  de  biggest  nigger  whut  ever  come 
to  dis  town.  Word  is  sont  out  dat  he  old-soldiered 
wid  de  Gaitskills — fit  wid  de  white  folks !  I  needs 
him  in  my  chu'ch!" 

Neither  Skeeter  nor  Figger  made  a  reply.  Their 
air  of  tragedy  silenced  Vinegar  Atts,  and  he  crept 
forward  on  tiptoe  to  where  the  two  men  were  sitting, 
smoking  cigarettes  and  sighing.  When  Vinegar 
reached  a  point,  where  he  could  see  the  face  of 
Figger  Bush,  he  jumped  as  if  he  had  seen  a 
ghost. 

"My — good — gosh,  Figger!"  Vinegar  wailed 
in  his  siren -whistle  voice.  "You  done  suicided 
yo'se'f!  Took  five  days  to  count  his  money — 
got  it  in  de  bank  fetchin'  int* rust — livin'  in  his 
own  cabin  an'  drawin'  rations — an'  you  is  de  only 
blood  kin  of  Tickf all's  leadin'  nigger  sitson  an' 
you — is — dead ! ' ' 

"Tell  me  whut  to  do,  Revun?"  Figger  wailed. 

"I  ain't  got  time,  Figger!"  Atts  bawled. 
"I  got  to  tote  a  Christyum  greetin'  an'  welcome  to 
dat  noble  nigger  man!" 

Vinegar  Atts  went  out  of  the  saloon  with  the 
rolling  walk  of  a  big  bear. 

"Tell  me  whut  to  do,  Skeeter!"     Figger  wailed. 

"Search  me!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  "'Tain't 
no  trouble  fer  a  nigger  to  die — dat  comes  nachel. 
But  when  a  nigger  tries  to  come  to  life  an'  make 
folks  b'lieve  it— Lawdy!" 

"I's  gwine  right  down  an'  see  Popsy!"  Figger 
announced  with  sudden  determination.  "I'll  tell 
him  dat  Scootie  is  been  lyin'  to  him  all  de  time. 


26  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

I  kin  prove  by  Marse  Tom  an'  all  de  white  folks 
dat  I  ain't  never  been  dead  a-tall!" 

' '  I  hopes  you  luck,  Figger ! ' '  Skeeter  exclaimed 
in  a  tone  which  indicated  that  he  considered  such 
an  enterprise  futile. 

Figger  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  the  cabin  where 
Scootie  lived. 

He  found  Popsy  sitting  upon  the  porch,  smoking 
a  corn-cob  pipe  which  had  been  the  property  of 
Scootie's  deceased  husband,  and  languidly  slapping 
at  his  face  with  a  turkey -wing  fan.  His  stove 
pipe  hat  rested  upon  the  floor  at  his  feet  and  con 
tained  a  big  red  handkerchief. 

"Howdy,  Popsy!"  Figger  greeted  him  cordially, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "Don't  you  reckomember 
me?" 

The  old  man  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
rested  his  turkey-wing  fan  upon  his  lap,  reached 
for  his  long  patriarchal  staff  as  if  he  were  about  to 
rise;  then  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  surveyed 
Figger  a  long  time. 

"Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  never  seed  yo'  favor  befo'," 
he  quavered. 

"I's  little  Figger,"  Figger  informed  him  in 
gratiatingly. 

"Little  Figger  is  dead,"  Popsy  answered,  look 
ing  at  Bush  with  faded  eyes,  in  which  the  light  of 
doubt  and  suspicion  and  a  little  fear  was  growing. 
"I  lives  wid  little  Figger 's  widder." 

"Dat's  a  mistake,  Popsy,"  Figger  protested. 
"I  ain't  died  yit.  Scootie's  been  lyin'  to  you 
'bout  me." 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  27 

The  old  man  leaned  over  and  fumbled  in  the 
crown  of  his  stove-pipe  hat.  He  brought  out  his 
big  red  handkerchief,  and  slowly  unwrapped  the 
photograph  which  Scootie  had  given  him  when  he 
first  entered  her  home,  a  photograph  of  a  negro 
with  a  woolly  head  and  a  shoe-brush  mustache. 
Handing  this  to  Figger,  he  asked  sharply : 

"Does  you  look  like  dat  nigger  in  dat  photy- 
grapht?' 

"Naw,  suh, "  Figger  replied  with  evident 
reluctance. 

"Dat's  de  little  Figger  Bush  I  mourns,"  Popsy 
said.  "Dat's  Scootie 's  dead  husbunt.  You  ain't 
look  like  him  a  bit — you  look  like  a  picked  geese ! ' ' 

"I's  de  very  same  man,  Popsy!"  Figger  wailed 
in  desperation.  "Only  but  I  done  had  my  hair 
an'  mustache  cut  off." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  Popsy  declared  in  positive 
tones.  "I  raised  dis  here  Figger  Bush,  an'  I 
knows  he  never  earnt  enough  money  in  his  dum 
lazy  life  to  commit  a  shave  an'  a  hair-cut!" 

"0  Lawdy,  whut  muss  I  do?"  Figger  wailed. 

"Git  away  from  dis  cabin  an'  don't  never  show 
yo'se'f  here  no  mo'!"  the  old  man  howled.  "I 
wouldn't  b'lieve  you  wus  Figger  Bush  ef  you 
sweared  on  de  Bible  an'  all  de  twelve  opossums!" 

Popsy  pounded  upon  the  floor  of  the  porch 
with  the  end  of  his  long  staff. 

' '  0  Scootie ! "  he  called.  ' '  Git  outen  dat  kitchen 
an*  come  here  a  minute." 

Hope  flamed  up  in  the  heart  of  Figger.  He 
knew  that  no  one  could  convince  Popsy  that  he 


28  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

was  not  dead  more  certainly  than  the  woman  who 
pretended  to  be  his  widow. 

Scootie  came  out  upon  the  porch  and  gazed 
with  popping  eyes  at  Figger  Bush. 

"Is  dis  here  nigger  yo'  dead  husbunt?"  Popsy 
snapped,  pointing  a  palsied  finger  at  Figger. 

"Naw,  suh, "  Scootie  replied  truthfully. 

The  old  man  stood  up.  He  caught  his  long 
staff  at  the  little  end  as  a  man  grasps  a  baseball 
bat.  He  balanced  it  a  moment,  poising  himself 
on  his  feet,  as  if  he  were  getting  ready  to  knock  a 
"homer, "  aiming  the  stick  at  Figger 's  round,  ball- 
like  head ! 

" Git  out!'1  Popsy  whooped. 

Figger  got  out. 

X 

»  .. 

Early  the  next  morning  Scootie  sent  two  wagon- 
loads  of  household  goods  to  the  log  cabin  in  the 
rear  of  Colonel  Tom  Gait  skill's  home,  where 
Popsy  had  taken  his  young  wife  fifty-five  years 
before. 

Scootie  deposited  these  goods  in  the  two  front 
rooms,  fixing  them  up  so  that  Popsy  would  have 
a  comfortable  place  after  his  arrival,  and  while  she 
was  arranging  the  rest  of  the  rooms.  In  one  room 
she  placed  a  rickety  sofa,  a  couple  of  chairs,  and  a 
table.  She  hung  a  few  pictures  on  the  wall,  placed 
a  few  ornaments  upon  the  mantelpiece,  and  from 
the  spring  beside  the  house  she  brought  a  pitcher 
of  water,  placed  it  on  the  table,  and  set  a  drinking 
glass  beside  it. 

In  the  other  room  she  set  up  Popsy's  bed,  placed 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  29 

beside  it  the  only  comfortable  rocking-chair  she 
possessed,  put  Popsy's  old,  battered  suit-case, 
which  contained  all  his  worldly  goods,  under  the 
bed,  and  placed  upon  the  mantelpiece  all  the 
tobacco  and  pipes  which  her  late  husband  had 
left  her. 

Then  she  returned  to  her  own  cabin  to  super 
intend  the  removal  of  the  remainder  of  her  goods. 

As  she  came  into  the  yard,  Popsy  called  to  her 
from  his  seat  on  the  porch. 

"I  ain't  no  good  settin'  here  in  dis  rockin'- 
chair,  Scootie.  I'll  be  gittin'  along  to'des  my 
own  cabin!" 

1 '  Don't  go  yit,  Popsy, ' '  Scootie  begged.  * '  Wait 
till  de  nex'  wagon  comes.  I'll  set  de  rockin'  -chair 
up  in  de  wagon  an*  let  you  ride  to  yo'  cabin  wid 
deload!" 

"I  ain't  gwine  do  it!"  the  old  man  shouted 
irascibly.  "I  ain't  gwine  be  kotch  settin'  up  in 
a  rockin '-chair  in  a  wagon  like  a  ole  nigger  woman 
ridin'  to  a  all-day  nigger  fun'ral  wid  dinner  on  de 
grounds.  I'll  walk  an'  tote  my  own  carcass  to  dat 
cabin,  like  a  man!" 

"Ef  pore  Figger  wus  livin',  I'd  git  him  to  hitch 
up  de  kerridge  an'  drive  you  to  de  cabin, "  Scootie 
said  mischievously. 

' '  Huh ! "  the  old  man  shouted.  * '  Figger  wouldn't 
hab  sense  enough  to  find  my  ole  cabin.  When  de 
good  Lawd  passed  aroun'  brains,  Figger  had  his 
head  in  a  woodpecker's  hole  lookin'  fer  aigs!" 

Muttering  to  himself  in  sheer  perversity,  he 
pranced  down  the  road  for  a  hundred  yards  or 


30  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

so,  then,  out  of  sight  of  Scootie,  he  settled  down 
to  a  sedate  and  dignified  walk.  In  a  little  while 
he  began  to  use  his  long  staff,  leaning  heavily 
upon  it  as  he  climbed  the  long  hill  which  led  to 
the  Gaitskill  home. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  passed  a  negro  sitting 
disconsolately  upon  the  end  of  a  log.  He  was  a 
scarecrow  sort  of  a  negro,  with  ragged,  flapping 
clothes;  a  close  observer  might  have  noticed  that 
he  had  recently  worn  a  stubby,  shoe-brush  mus 
tache;  his  head  was  shaved  as  smooth  and  slick 
as  a  black  piano-key. 

"Good  mawnin',''  Popsy  Spout  quavered. 

"Mawnin',  Popsy,"  Figger  murmured  in  a 
tragic  tone — a  voice  from  the  tomb,  a  greeting 
from  the  dead! 

The  old  man  walked  on,  his  step  feebler  now, 
his  staff  serving  him  more  and  more,  his  progress 
slower. 

The  August  sun  shone  with  scorching  heat, 
the  sunlight  spraying  from  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
like  water;  the  August  breeze  was  like  a  breath 
from  the  open  furnace-doors  where  iron  is  melted 
and  flows  like  water;  the  sand  of  the  highway 
was  like  embers  scorching  the  feet.  The  old  man 
staggered  on,  muttering  to  himself. 

Figger  Bush  arose  slinkingly  and  walked  behind 
Popsy  at  a  respectful  distance,  like  a  dog  which 
had  been  whipped  and  told  not  to  follow.  He  kept 
close  to  the  high  weeds  and  the  bushes  which 
grew  beside  the  road,  so  that  he  could  hide  promptly 
if  Popsy  turned  and  looked  back. 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  31 

But  Popsy  did  not  look  back.  His  age-dimmed 
eyes  were  set  upon  a  big  white  house  with  large 
colonial  columns  which  stood  upon  the  top  of  the 
hill.  Half  a  century  had  passed  since  he  had  seen 
this  home  last,  and  eagerness  overcame  his  physical 
weakness  and  carried  him  to  the  hilltop  where  the 
beautiful  lawn  lay  like  a  green  carpet  spread  before 
the  door. 

Popsy  leaned  weakly  upon  the  gate  and  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  stately  old  home.  He 
assumed  the  attitude  of  one  who  was  listening  for 
some  familiar  sound,  and  was  perplexed  because 
he  could  hear  nothing. 

Alas!  Popsy  was  listening  for  footsteps  that 
were  silent  and  for  voices  which  for  fifty  years 
had  not  been  music  in  the  porches  of  the  ear !  For 
a  moment  the  old  man  had  forgotten  the  years 
which  had  passed  since  last  he  saw  this  house, 
and  he  was  listening  for  the  voices  of  a  young 
bride's  father  and  mother,  and  for  the  laughter 
and  shouting  of  three  Gaitskill  boys — Tom,  Jim, 
Henry ! 

' '  I  bound  dem  boys  is  huntin'  squorls  over  in  de 
swamp,  or  mebbe  dey's  monkeyin'  aroun'  dat 
wash-hole, ' '  the  old  man  murmured  doubtfully. 
"Dat  house  shore  do  'pear  powerful  still  'thout 
dem  noisy,  aggervatin'  bullies  bellerin'  to  each 
yuther." 

Popsy  fumbled  feebly  through  his  pockets  and 
brought  his  hands  out  empty. 

"Dem  dum  boys  is  mighty  stingy  wid  deir 
chawin'  terbacker, "  he  mumbled  in  an  irritated 


32  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

tone.  "Dey  don't  gimme  half  enough  to  keep  me 
runnin' !  Sence  Tom  hitched  up  wid  dat  pretty 
Mis'  Mildred,  he  done  lef  off  chawin',  an  dat  cuts 
down  my  'lowance.  Nev'  mind!  I  knows  whar 
dem  dum  boys  keep  deir  chawin',  an'  I'll  'vent  some 
excuse  to  go  to  de  house  an'  I'll  holp  myse'f  liberal." 

Suddenly  Popsy  Spout  remembered  certain 
boyish  pranks  which  Tom  and  Jim  and  Henry 
had  played  upon  him  fifty  years  before.  He  dimly 
recalled  finding  his  tables  and  chairs  hanging 
from  the  limbs  of  trees,  his  bed  carried  over  in  the 
cow-pasture  and  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  field, 
his  few  cooking  pots  crowning  the  tops  of  fence- 
posts  around  his  cabin ! 

"Hod  zickety!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  bound  dem 
rapscallions  is  pesticatin'  my  Ca'lline  plum'  to 
death!" 

He  turned  away  from  the  gate  and  hurried  as 
rapidly  as  his  feeble  legs  would  carry  him  down  the 
road. 

When  at  last  he  reached  the  cabin,  he  sat  down 
upon  the  big  stone  step  completely  exhausted. 

A  big  pecan  tree  stood  in  front  of  the  house, 
its  wide-spreading  branches  completely  shading 
the  front  yard.  Under  this  tree  three  of  Popsy's 
piccaninnies  had  romped,  and  countless  generations 
of  hound  puppies  had  rolled  in  .the  dust,  and 
scratched  in  the  sand  at  its  roots. 

To  Popsy's  left  was  the  big  stone  spring-house, 
the  roof  entirely  gone,  and  leaves  and  branches 
had  blown  into  the  four  walls  and  choked  the 
stream  which  flowed  from  the  hillside. 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  33 

' '  I  been  aimin'  to  fix  dat  roof, ' '  Popsy  murmured. 
"It  'pears  like  I  cain't  hardly  find  time  to  do  no- 
thin',  I  got  to  wuck  fer  de  white  folks  so  hard." 

He  turned  and  looked  behind  him. 

Two  doors  opened  out  upon  the  front  porch, 
and  the  two  rooms  visible  to  him  were  furnished. 
Having  seen  the  furniture  in  Scootie's  cabin,  he 
recognized  it  now,  and  thought  it  was  the  furniture 
of  his  old  home  fifty  years  before. 

Then  one  of  the  bizarre  conceits  of  second  child 
hood  knocked  upon  the  crumbling  portals  of  his 
brain  and  found  admittance.  He  thought  that 
he  was  a  young  man  again,  and  that  the  buxom 
negro  girl  whom  he  had  married  in  the  presence 
of  the  white  folks  up  yonder  on  the  hill  in  the 
drawing-room  of  the  Gaitskill  home,  was  still  alive, 
and  occupied  this  cabin  with  him. 

"Ca'lline!     Ca'lline!"  he  called  sharply. 

But  Caroline,  sleeping  in .  her  narrow,  silent 
chamber  under  a  scrub -oak  tree  on  a  hillside 
in  Alabama,  made  no  answer. 

"Ca'lline!"  he  called  again,  in  a  voice  which 
he  tried  to  make  loud,  but  which  failed  through 
weakness.  "Ca'lline!  Cain't  you  hear  me  callin' 
you?" 

The  old  man  stood  up  in  perplexity.  His 
fuddled  brain  could  not  grasp  the  reason  for  this 
silence  and  loneliness.  He  climbed  feebly,  with 
the  aid  of  his  staff,  up  the  stone  steps,  and  pounded 
loudly  upon  the  crumbling  floor  of  the  porch. 

"Oh,  Ca'lline!  Whar  in  dumnation  is  you 
gone  at?" 


34  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

He  entered  the  room  where  Scootie  had  prepared 
his  bed  with  the  idea  that  he  might  want  to  lie 
down  and  rest  after  his  trip  to  the  cabin,  and  he 
took  his  seat  in  the  comfortable  rocking-chair, 
placing  his  stove-pipe  hat  beside  him  on  the  floor. 

"Ca'lline!"  he  wailed.  There  was  no  answer 
to  his  call. 

The  fire  of  exasperation  flamed  in  the  ancient 
man's  withered  frame,  and  he  manifested  his 
annoyance  by  kicking  his  beloved  stove-pipe  hat 
across  the  room. 

"Dag-gone  de  dag-gone  day  whut  fotch  me  de 
dag-gone  luck  of  totin'  dat  dag-gone  fat  nigger 
gal  to  my  cabin ! "  he  wailed.  ' '  Ca'lline!  Whar  in 
dumnation  is  you  an'  dem  three  nigger  brats? " 

He  leaned  back,  resting  his  shaking,  palsied 
head  wearily  against  the  chair. 

"Dem  chillun  take  atter  deir  maw,"  he  com 
mented.  ' '  Dey 's  gad-arounders ! ' ' 

From  the  top  of  the  big  pecan  tree  a  mocking 
bird  broke  forth  in  delirious  music.  The  loud, 
clear  notes,  imitating  every  bird  which  roamed  the 
woods,  echoed  back  from  the  woods  and  the  hill 
side,  and  broke  in  jewels  of  melody  around  the  old 
log  cabin. 

The  old  man  listened,  sighed  gratefully,  and 
smiled. 

"Dat's  one  of  dem  wuthless,  no  'count  piccanin 
nies  a-comin'  now, "he  muttered.  "Dem  chillun 
got  deir  whistlin'  gift  from  deir  paw.  I  could 
whistle  jes'  like  dat  befo'  I  loss  all  de  toofs  outen 
my  head." 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  35 

Instantly  a  footstep  sounded  in  the  rear  of  the 
house,  and  the  door  opened.  Figger  Bush  entered 
the  room  and  stopped  near  the  door,  looking  at 
Popsy  Spout  with  eyes  as  wistful  as  the  eyes  of 
a  hound. 

"Whar  de  debbil  is  you  been  at,  Figger?" 
the  old  man  howled.  "I  been  callin'  you  all  de 
mawnin'!" 

"I  been  settin'  aroun', "  Figger  muttered.  "I's 
tired!" 

4 'By  dam'!"  the  old  man  snorted.  "Mebbe 
yo'  legs  is  a  little  feeble  an'  tired,  but  yo'  stomick 
don't  never  weary  none.  Whut  you  been  doin' 
in  dat  kitchen — eatin'  or  drinkin'?" 

"Nothin',"  Figger  mumbled. 

"Ef  you  been  drinkin'  dat  dram  agin,  I'll  find 
out  about  it!"  Popsy  ranted  in  the  falsetto  of 
senility.  "Licker  talks  mighty  loud  when  it  gits 
loose  from  de  jug,  an'  de  fust  time  you  whoops  a 
yell  I'll  wallop  yo'  hide  wid  dis  stick." 

"Yes,  suh, "  Figger  murmured,  rubbing  his 
shaved  head. 

"Whar  is  yo'  hair  gone  at?"  Popsy  howled, 
glaring  at  Figger's  bald  pate. 

"Ole  Mis'  Mildred  cut  it  off!"  Figger  pre 
varicated  with  a  snicker.  "She  say  she  wanted 
to  sot  a  hin  an'  needed  my  wool  to  make  a  nest." 

"Huh!"  the  old  man  snorted  in  disgust.  "It's 
a  pity  she  didn't  take  one  of  dese  here  wooden 
teethpicks  an'  beat  yo'  brains  out  while  she  wus 
at  it!" 

Figger  turned  and  started  to  go  out. 


36  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

"Hey,  Figger!"  Popsy  squalled. 

"Whut?"  Figger  asked. 

"You  stay  aroun'  dis  cabin  so  you  kin  wait  on 
me!" 

"Yes,  suh, "  Figger  grinned. 

"Ef  you  leave  dis  house  'thout  axin'  my  say-so, 
I'll  skin  you  alive!" 

"I  ain't  gwine  leave  you,  Popsy,"  Figger 
assured  him.  "Nobody  cain't  git  me  away  from 
dis  cabin  widout  compellment ! " 

The  mocking-bird  in  the  top  of  the  pecan  tree 
started  again  its  song  of  delirious  music. 

"Go  out  an'  tell  dat  brat  to  stop  dat  whistlin* 
so  1  kin  take  me  a  nap!"  Popsy  commanded,  as 
his  weary  head  rested  upon  the  back  of  the  chair 
and  he  closed  his  age-dimmed  eyes. 

Figger  stooped  and  picked  up  Popsy 's  big  red 
handkerchief  and  passed  out.  He  sat  down  upon 
the  steps  of  the  porch  and  unwrapped  from  the 
kerchief  a  cheap  photograph  of  a  man  with  a  shoe- 
brush  mustache  and  a  woolly,  kinky  head.  He 
gazed  upon  the  picture  for  a  long  time,  then  tore  it 
into  tiny  bits  and  tossed  the  fragments  over  in  the 
high  grass. 

"Dat  kind  of  Figger  Bush  is  dead!"  he  an 
nounced  to  himself,  while  in  his  eyes  there  glowed 
the  light  of  a  great  resolution.  "I's  related  to 
Popsy  by  bornation,  an*  me  an*  Popsy  is  kinnery 
of  de  Gait  skills  by  fightin'  wid  de  white  folks 
endurin'  of  de  war.  Us  is  all  quality  niggers, 
an'  we  got  to  ack  like  we  wus  white!" 

On  top  of  the  hill  Figger  heard  the  rumbling  of 


The  Late  Figger  Bush  37 

two  wagons,  bringing  the  last  of  Scootie's  house 
hold  goods  to  her  new  home. 

"Won't  de  widder  be  supprised!"  Figger 
chuckled.  "Bless  Gawd!  I  ain't  as  dead  as 
she  an'  me  thought  I  wus!" 

He  sat  chuckling  to  himself  until  he  recalled 
Popsy's  last  command,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"He  tole  me  not  to  let  nothin'  disturb  his  nap!" 
he  muttered,  as  he  walked  rapidly  up  the  hill 
toward  the  wagons.  ' '  Now  I's  gwine  gib  de  widder 
de  wust  jolt  she  ever  got  in  her  life ! " 

He  hid  behind  a  large  tree  until  the  first  wagon 
came  to  where  he  was  standing.  Scootie  was 
driving,  and  she  looked  like  one  who  had  suddenly 
come  into  possession  of  a  great  treasure. 

"Hoi'  on  a  minute,  Scootie!"  Figger  exclaimed, 
stepping  from  behind  the  tree.  "Popsy  sont  me 
up  here  to  tell  you  not  to  disturb  him  till  he  tuck 
a  leetle  nap!" 

"'Tain't  so!"  Scootie  snapped.  "Popsy  don't 
know  yo'  favor  or  yo'  face!" 

But  as  she  looked  at  Figger  Bush  she  knew 
beyond  a  doubt  that  he  was  installed  in  his  grand 
father's  cabin.  Figger's  face  glowed  with  a  light  of 
happiness  and  peace,  and  there  was  even  something 
in  the  face  which  held  the  promise  of  a  new  man 
hood  through  the  influence  of  the  grand  old  man 
who  now  lay  asleep  in  the  cabin. 

Scootie  began  to  weep. 

"I  reckin  I'll  hab  to  take  my  furnicher  an* 
move  out,  Figger, "  she  sobbed.  "I  kinder  hoped 
I  could  live  wid  Popsy  an'  take  keer  of  him,  an' 


38  The  Late  Figger  Bush 

make  him  happy  in  his  ole  age — but  all  dat  wus 
too  much  luck  fer  Scootie!" 

"Twouldn't  be  mo'  dan  you  deserve,  Scootie," 
Figger  said  in  a  pleading  tone.  "An'  I  b'lieve 
you  an  me  could  fix  it  up  so  dat  it  wouldn't  be 
onpossible!" 

"How?"  Scootie  asked. 

"Leave  dem  mules  standin'  here  in  de  shade, 
go  wid  me  to  de  cotehouse  an'  git  some  weddin' 
licenses,  an'  git  Vinegar  Atts  to  marrify  us!" 
Figger  suggested. 

Scootie  promptly  hit  the  ground  with  both  feet, 
landing  by  the  side  of  Figger  Bush. 

"Come  on,  honey!"  she  said,  seizing  him  by  the 
hand.  "Less  go  quick!" 

"Kin  I  go,  too?"  Little  Bit,  the  driver  of  the 
second  wagon  asked  in  a  whining  tone.  No  answer 
was  given  to  him,  so  he  jumped  down  and  followed. 

From  the  top  of  the  hill,  they  looked  down  to 
where  the  red  brick  court-house  baked  in  the  sum 
mer  sun.  Side  by  side  they  started  toward  the 
court-house,  and  the  new  life. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  sole  guardian  of 
the  grand  old  man  in  the  cabin,  the  mocking-bird 
sat  in  the  pecan  tree  and  sang  its  song  of  love. 


Hoodoo   Eyes. 


THE  swinging  doors  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon 
fell  apart  and  Conko  Makes  walked  in. 

He  was  a  large  man  and,  to  look  at,  very  impressive. 

The  negroes  in  Tickfall  had  never  seen  clothes 
like  his,  so  large  in  stripe  and  so  variegated  in 
color.  On  either  lapel  of  his  coat  was  a  large, 
brassy  emblem  of  some  secret  lodge. 

On  the  middle  finger  of  each  hand  was  a 
rolled-gold  band  ring  nearly  an  inch  wide.  Across 
the  vast  expanse  of  his  sky-muckle-dun-colored 
waistcoat  was  a  gangrened  near-gold  watch-chain 
like  the  cable  chain  of  a  Mississippi  River  steam 
boat,  and  a  charm  suspended  from  it  was  con 
structed  of  the  talons  of  an  eagle. 

His  ponderous  feet  shook  the  floor  as  he  walked 
across  the  saloon  and  seated  himself  at  a  table. 
Removing  his  stove-pipe  hat,  he  placed  that  upon 
one  chair,  kicked  another  chair  from  under  the 
table  on  which  to  deposit  his  feet,  and  leaned  back 
in  a  third  chair,  with  his  gorilla-like  arms  resting 
comfortably  across  the  back  of  a  fourth.  The 
barroom  appeared  to  be  empty. 

"Hey,  dar!  Come  here — eve'ybody!"  he  bel 
lowed. 

39 


40  Hoodoo  Eyes 

Skeeter  Butts  peeped  at  Conko  Mukes  around 
the  corner  of  the  bar  behind  which  he  was  sitting. 

The  black  face  which  he  beheld  advertised 
unmistakably  what  Conko  Mukes  was.  It  was 
the  mug  of  a  typical  prize-fighter. 

The  face  was  clean-shaven,  accentuating  a 
jaw,  heavy,  brutal,  aggressive.  His  head  was 
also  shaven,  and  every  bump  on  his  villainous 
cranium  stood  forth  like  a  promontory  on  a  level 
plain.  His  eyes  were  heavy-lidded,  lazy,  sleepy- 
looking,  like  the  eyes  of  a  lion. 

The  nose  had  been  broken  and  was  crooked; 
his  thick  lips  had  been  battered  in  many  fights 
until  they  were  shapeless,  and  the  mouth  was 
simply  an  ugly  gash  across  his  face.  And  to 
complete  the  adornment,  one  ear  was  "tin"  and 
the  other  was  cauliflower,  both  permanently 
disfigured  and  disfiguring. 

Conko  Mukes  moved  in  his  chair  as  if  burdened 
by  the  heavy  weight  of  his  muscles,  and  his  heavy- 
lidded  eyes  glowed  yellow  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
saloon  as  he  glared  around  him.  Again  his  voice 
boomed : 

"Hey!  Am  eve'ybody  done  hauled  off  an' 
died?  Come  out  here,  Skeeter  Butts — whut's 
hidin'you?" 

"I  guess  dis  is  my  move-up, "  Skeeter  remarked 
as  he  pocketed  a  handful  of  silver  which  he  had 
been  counting  behind  the  bar  and  came  to  the 
table. 

Conko  watched  the  diminutive  darky  until  he 
stopped  by  his  table.  Then  the  lazy,  lion-like 


Hoodoo  Eyes  41 

eyes  glowed  with  a  yellow  fire,  and  with  a  slapping 
motion  of  his  monstrous  hand  he  exclaimed : 

"Shoo,  fly,  don't  bodder  me!" 

Skeeter  Butts  cackled  like  a  nervous  hen, 
fluttered  well  out  of  reach  of  that  hand,  and 
snickered : 

"Lawd,  Conko,  you  sho'  is  one  powerful  funny 
man!  Dat  gits  you  a  free-fer-nothin'  drink. 
You  is  better 'n  a  show-actor." 

"You  done  kotch  de  lizard  by  de  tail,  son— 
kotch  him  de  fust  time, ' '  Conko  informed  him  in 
deep,  rumbling  bellow.  "I  is  a  holy  show!" 

"How  is  you  feelin'  to-day,  Conko?"  Skeeter 
asked  as  he  set  the  drink  before  him. 

"I  feels  like  I  is  sorry  I  wus  borned  to  die!" 
Conko  answered,  swallowing  the  raw  whisky  with 
one  gulp  and  with  a  dry  eye.  "Howisde  bettin' 
gittin'on?" 

' '  De  niggers  takes  up  eve'y  bet,  Conko, ' '  Skeeter 
replied.  "You  see,  dis  here  Hitch  Diamond — 
nobody  ain't  never  knocked  him  out  yit!" 

"He  ain't  never  fit  nobody  yit,"  Conko  re 
marked  easily.  "Befo'  dis  day  is  over  I'll  make 
him  wish  he'd  been  borned  a  little  nigger  gal!" 

1 '  I  hopes  so, ' '  Skeeter  said  with  a  nervous 
flutter  in  his  tone.  "I  done  bet  de  limit.  Ef  it 
ain't  a  win  wid  you,  I's  gwine  hab  de  misforchine 
to  lose  fawty  dollars." 

With  a  pompous  air  Conko  Mukes  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a  large  roll 
of  bills  which  had  been  carefully  wrapped  around  a 
fat  corn-cob.  He  tossed  it  across  the  table. 


42  Hoodoo  Eyes 

"Dar  am  fifteen  dollars  whut  you  kin  bet  fer  me, 
Skeeter.  Dat  many  money  says  to  you  dat  I's 
gwine  make  Hitch  Diamond  dig  a  hole  in  de  groun' 
to  git  away  from  de  Georgia  Cyclome." 

''Hitch  specify  dat  he  gwine  rub  his  gloves  wid 
hoodoo-juice,"  Skeeter  said  as  he  fumbled  with 
the  corn-cob.  ''Ain't  you  got  no  stunts  like  dat 
to  pull  on?" 

Conko  Mukes  opened  his  eyes  with  a  sudden 
and  tremendous  interest.  He  sat  for  a  moment 
in  deep  thought.  Then  he  answered  in  a  regretful 
tone : 

"Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  never  studied  'bout  dat 
befo'.  I  don't  depen'  on  no  hoodoo-juice.  I 
depen's  on  elbow-grease!  I  fights  straight,  and 
hits  hard,  an'  knocks  'em  out  on  de  level." 

"Yes,  suh,  elbow-grease  is  powerful  good," 
Skeeter  said  uneasily;  "but  I  riggers  dat  us  oughter 
hab  all  de  he'p  we  kin  git !  Of  co'se,  I  don't  b'lieve 
in  no  hoodoo  myse'f,  but " 

"Us  don't  need  no  hoodoo, "  Conko  interrupted. 
"Let  Hitch  Diamond  git  it.  He  needs  it.  He 
don't  know  it  yit,  but  he  needs  a  dorctor,  a  preacher, 
a  undertaker,  an'  a  nice,  deep  grave  in  de  cem'- 
tery!" 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  powerful  shore  'bout  dat, 
Conko,"  Skeeter  suggested.  "You  ain't  never 
seed  dat  Hitch  Diamond  pufform." 

"Whut  sort  lookin'  coon  is  he?"     Conko  asked. 

"He's  mo'  tall  dan  you,  wider  dan  you,  heavier 
dan  you  is.  He's  got  arms  long  enough  to  hug 
a  elerphunt  aroun'  de  stomick." 


Hoodoo  Eyes  43 

"I'll  break  dem  long  arms  in  fo'  pieces  an'  wrop 
'em  aroun'  Hitch's  neck  like  a  mournin'  rag," 
Conko  declared. 

"Hitch  kin  put  his  hands  on  yo'  head  an'  mash 
yo'  face  plum'  down  in  yo'  stomick — jes'  like  you 
wus  a  mud-turkle!"  Skeeter  said. 

"He  won't  git  no  chance  to  mash, "  Conko  as 
sured  him.  "I'll  make  him  think  he's  got  bofe 
hands  tied  behime  him  an'  bofe  behime  foots 
kotch  in  a  bear- trap." 

"Hitch  won't  take  but  two  licks  at  you," 
Skeeter  continued.  "One'll  be  a  up-cut  whut'll 
punch  you  in  de  air  like  a  balloom ;  den  he'll  take 
a  side-swipe  at  you  when  you  is  comin'  down, 
an'  phish! — you'll  be  over  on  de  yuther  side  of 
Jordan!" 

"Huh!"  Conko  grunted.  "Whut  you  reckin 
I'll  be  doin'  to  him  when  I's  comin'  down? " 

"De  las'  time  Hitch  had  a  prize-fight,"  Skeeter 
remarked,  as  he  tried  to  roll  a  cigarette  with 
fingers  which  trembled  and  spilled  all  the  tobacco, 
"he  specify  dat  he  didn't  need  but  one  glove,  an' 
he  made  em  tie  it  on  his  elbow.  He  fiddled  aroun' 
an'  dodged  dat  big  stiff  till  de  nigger  got  in  reach 
of  dat  elbow;  den  Hitch  gib  him  a  little  jab  in  his 
soul-complexion,  an'  dat  nigger  went  to  heaben 
fer  a  week!" 

' '  Huh ! ' '  Conko  grunted.  ' '  Hitch'll  need  gloves 
on  his  elbows  to-day,  too.  But  he'll  want  'em 
to  keep  him  from  hurtin'  his  crazy-bones  when  I 
knocks  him  down." 

"Hitch  Diamond  challenged  Jack  Johnsing, " 


44  Hoodoo  Eyes 

Skeeter  declared.  ' '  An'  you  know  whut  dat  nigger 
champeen  of  de  worl'  went  an'  done?  He  got 
on  a  big  ferry-boat  an'  went  to  Framce  an'  specify 
dat  he  wustn't  never  comin'  back  to  dis  country 
no  mo'!" 

"Jack  Johnsing  got  skeared  too  soon,"  Conko 
replied  easily.  "I  always  said  he  had  a  yeller 
streak." 

"I  seed  Hitch  fight  a  bear  once,"  Skeeter  in 
formed  him.  "He  kotch  dat  bear  by  de  tail,  an' 
dat  bear  gib  one  loud  squall  an'  drug  Hitch  plum' 
to  Arkansas  befo'  Hitch  could  let  loose  his  hand- 
holt!" 

' '  Huh, ' '  Conko  grunted,  undismayed.  ' '  I  ain't 
got  no  tail." 

Skeeter  stopped.  His  thought  could  go  no 
higher.  His  imagination  could  reach  no  further. 

Conko  lighted  a  big  cigar  and  puffed  smoke 
like  a  steam-engine.  He  laid  two  monstrous 
hands,  palm  upward,  upon  the  table  between 
them  and  remarked : 

"Dese  here  hands  needs  exoncise,  Skeeter. 
Hitch  Diamond  is  shore  gwine  make  a  good 
punchin'bag." 

"I  hopes  you  gits  yo'  punch  in  fust,"  Skeeter 
sighed,  wishing  that  he  had  not  bet  so  heavily. 

"Whut's  de  matter  wid  you?"  Conko  Mukes 
bawled.  ' '  Is  you  gittin'  cold  foots ? ' ' 

"Naw.  Nothin'  like  dat,"  Skeeter  hastened 
to  assure  him,  "but " 

"'Tain't  no  need  to  git  anxious,"  Conko  de 
clared  as  he  rose  to  go.  "You  go  out  an'  bet  my 


Hoodoo  Eyes  45 

money,  an*  remember  dat  de  Georgia  Cyclome 
is  a  real  twister." 

"Hitch  is  a  stem- winder,  too, "  Skeeter  declared. 

As  Conko  Mukes  tramped  out  of  the  saloon, 
Skeeter  Butts  wiped  the  clammy  sweat  from  his 
face  and  sighed. 

1 '  My  Lawd ! "  he  moaned.  ' '  I  tried'  to  skeer  dat 
nigger  up  so  he'd  be  keerful,  but  Conko  don't 
take  no  skeer.  Leastwise,  he  don't  talk  dat  way. 
I  got  de  hunch  dat  he  ain't  nothin'  but  beef  an' 
wind  an'  a  loud  noise.  I  bet  I's  gwine  lose  eve'y 
bet  whut  I  done  bet.  Dat's  de  bes'  bet  I  could 
bet!" 

"Huh!"  Conko  Mukes  meditated  as  he  walked 
slowly  toward  that  portion  of  Tickfall  inhabited 
by  the  whites.  "Dat  Skeeter  Butts  specify  dat 
Hitch  Diamond  is  some  fightin'  coon.  I  wish 
I  hadn't  bet  dem  fifteen  dollars;  I  cain't  affode  to 
lose  'em.  I  needs  he'p.  Wonder  whar  I  could  git 
some  of  dat  hoodoo- juice?" 

Professor  Dodo  Zodono,  medium,  magician, 
hypnotist,  stood  on  a  box  in  front  of  the  Tickfall 
drug-store,  adjusted  the  joints  of  his  flute,  and  placed 
it  to  his  lips.  The  sweet,  piercing  notes  quickly 
drew  a  crowd  around  him. 

The  professor  was  tall  and  thin,  with  long  black 
hair,  big  black  eyes,  a  long  mustache,  and  long, 
snaky  fingers.  His  black  clothes  appeared  to  hang 
upon  his  emaciated  form  like  draperies,  a  circum 
stance  which  helped  him  greatly  in  his  sleight-of- 
hand  tricks. 


46  Hoodoo  Eyes 

Two  assistants  stood  on  the  ground  beside  the 
box.  Both  were  tall  and  very  thin,  with  lank, 
damp  hair  and  listless,  humid  eyes,  and  tallow- 
colored  skin  always  moist  with  nervous  sweat — 
you  have  seen  many  like  them  lying  in  hypnotic 
sleep  in  some  show  window,  or  have  peered  down  a 
wooden  chute  to  see  them  slumbering  in  a  coffin 
six  feet  under  the  ground. 

When  the  music  ended  Professor  Zodono  handed 
his  flute  to  one  of  his  assistants  and  began  his  spiel : 

''Fellow  citizens,  I  have  called  you  together  to 
give  you  a  little  demonstration  of  my  powers. 

"We  are  surrounded  by  mystery.  There  is  a 
vast  realm  of  the  unknown  which  science  has  not 
explored.  I  shall  demonstrate  to  you  to-night 
that  we  have  not  yet  even  reached  the  edge  of 
the  great  ocean  of  discovery — price  of  admission, 
fifteen  and  twenty-five  cents! 

"I  shall  show  you  wonders  which  cannot  be 
accounted  for.  You  will  hear  sounds  which  defy 
the  laws  of  acoustics.  You  will  behold  appear 
ances  which  fly  in  the  face  of  investigation,  and 
effects  which  do  not  appear  to  have  a  sufficient 
cause — all  for  the  insignificant  price  of  fifteen  and 
twenty-five  cents ! 

"I  shall  now  give  you  a  free  demonstration  of 
hypnotism.  This  is  no  new  thing,  and  I  do  not 
charge  you  a  cent  to  see  an  old  and  familiar  stunt. 
It  is  nothing  but  a  nervous  sleep  induced  by  the 
active  mind  of  the  operator  upon  the  subjective 
consciousness  of  the  hypnotic.  This  power  has 
been  known  to  the  world  for  eighteen  hundred 


Hoodoo  Eyes  47 

years.  Under  this  influence,  the  operator  can 
make  his  subject  dance,  sing,  speak,  or  perform 
any  stunt  he  pleases.  In  New  York,  Dr.  Meseran 
hypnotized  Sandow,  the  modern  Samson,  and  that 
giant  who  could  lift  three  hundred  pounds  above 
his  head  with  one  hand  could  not  even  lift  his 
hand  to  his  head  to  scratch  his  ear ' ' 

At  this  point  there  was  a  slight  commotion  in 
the  closely  packed  crowd  in  front  of  Zodono.  A 
giant  darky  gorgeously  dressed  was  pressing  him 
self  to  the  front.  It  was  Conko  Mukes. 

His  manner  and  speech,  as  he  pushed  aside  both 
whites  and  blacks,  were  the  very  apotheosis  of 
deference  and  courtesy: 

"'Scuse  me,  boss!  Beg  parding,  kunnel!  Per 
Gawd's  sake,  don't  lemme  disturb  you-alls!  Got- 
ter  git  to  de  drug-sto'  prompt,  cap'n.  Please,  suh, 
let  a  po'  mis'ble  nigger  git  by  fer  de  white  folks' 
med'cine.  Thank  'e,  suh,  de  Lawd  is  shore  gwine 
bless  you  fer  dis  nigger's  sake. " 

By  the  time  Conko  Mukes  was  within  four  feet 
of  the  box  on  which  Zodono  stood,  the  professor 
had  resumed  his  speech  and  the  crowd  had  for 
gotten  the  interruption.  Mukes  stopped  where 
he  was  and  listened. 

"Every  positive  character  in  the  world  has  this 
power  of  hypnotism  over  every  negative  character," 
the  professor  proclaimed.  "  It  is  the  simple  power 
of  mind  over  mind  by  suggestion — all  of  which  I 
shall  prove  to  you  to-night  at  the  opera-house 
for  a  few  nickels  admission — price,  fifteen  and 
twenty-five  cents ! " 


48  Hoodoo  Eyes 

At  this  point  one  of  the  professor's  assistants 
walked  toward  the  box,  his  feet  dragging  and 
moving  as  if  some  one  had  him  by  the  shoulders, 
leading  him  forward.  His  thin  arms  dangled 
at  his  sides,  and  his  bony  fingers  twitched  and 
writhed  like  the  tail  of  a  snake. 

He  climbed  upon  the  box  with  awkward  move 
ments  as  if  the  joints  of  his  shoulders  and  hips 
were  stiff  and  the  hinges  rusty,  and  they  hurt 
him. 

He  walked  slowly,  reluctantly  toward  Zodono, 
and  the  professor  threw  up  his  hand,  snapped  his 
ringers,  and  cried  "Stop!" 

The  assistant  flinched,  dodged  like  a  dog,  and 
the  crowd  snickered. 

"My  Gawd!"  Conko  Mukes  mumbled  in  a 
low  tone.  ' '  Look  at  dat ! ' ' 

For  a  moment  the  professor  glared  in  the  eyes 
of  his  assistant;  then  his  hands  began  mak 
ing  slow,  stroking  motions  downward  before  the 
subject's  face.  Red  spots  came  and  went  in  the 
bleached  cheeks  of  the  hypnotic;  his  breath  was 
short  and  quick;  his  nostrils  and  lips  were  pinched. 

The  crowd  looked  on  breathlessly  as  the  hand  of 
the  professor,  fingers  outstretched,  clawed  the  air 
before  that  weak,  chalky  face,  with  its  twitching 
lips  and  feeble,  trembling  chin. 

"Ah!"  the  professor  exclaimed  theatrically, 
grinning  his  triumph  in  the  face  of  the  crowd. 

"Ah!"  the  crowd  echoed  with  an  expulsive 
sound  of  breath  released  after  a  moment  of  breath 
less  attention. 


Hoodoo  Eyes  49 

The  man  stood  before  them,  asleep  on  his  feet, 
his  body  waving  slowly  like  a  feather  suspended 
from  a  thread  and  gently  wafted  by  a  slight  breeze. 

The  druggist  and  his  two  clerks  came  out, 
picked  up  the  hypnotic,  who  was  as  stiff  as  a 
board;  carried  him  into  the  drug-store,  and  laid 
him  flat  on  his  back  in  the  show  window. 

Then  the  druggist  unfolded  a  sheet,  covered  the 
body,  tucked  the  covering  close  around  the  sleeper's 
chalky  face,  and  stepped  across  the  store  to  the 
soda-fountain  with  an  eye  alert  and  a  hand  ready 
for  trade. 

"Remember,  gents!"  Professor  Zodono  ex 
claimed.  "An  educational  and  instructive  show 
for  men,  women,  and  children — opera-house  to 
night  at  eight  o'clock  sharp — fifteen  and  twenty- 
five  cents  !" 

Then,  followed  by  his  other  assistant,  the  pro 
fessor  walked  slowly  up  the  street  to  the  opera-house 
to  dress  the  stage  for  his  evening's  performance. 

They  were  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by 
Conko  Mukes. 

The  moment  the  two  men  had  passed  out  of 
sight  through  the  stage  entrance  in  the  alley  by  the 
Gaitskill  store,  Conko  Mukes  knocked  on  the  door. 

"Open  up,  Bill!"  Zodono  commanded.  "I 
guess  that  is  the  nigger  washwoman  come  after 
those  curtains." 

When  Conko  Mukes  entered,  Zodono  came 
forward. 

"Have  you  come  after  the  washing?"  he  asked. 

Conko  Mukes  took  off  his  hat,  and  his  immense 


50  Hoodoo  Eyes 

mouth  with  its  mashed  and  shapeless  lips  spread 
wide  in  an  ugly  grin. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Mister  Jimmy?"  Conko 
asked. 

' '  My  Lord ! "  Zodono  exclaimed  after  a  moment's 
inspection.  "You  damn'  ole  coon!  What  you 
doing  in  this  place,  Conko?" 

"I  had  to  take  a  good  riddunce  of  Georgia,  Mr. 
Jimmy,"  Conko  growled,  grinning  like  a  bear. 
"De  gram  jury  lawed  me  all  de  time  an'  dat  place 
got  too  hot/How  is  all  de  white  folks  an'  de  niggers 
in  Tupelo?"" 

"Fine — when  I  saw  them  last, "  Zodono  grinned. 
"The  grand  jury  lawed  me,  too,  and  I  left." 

"Is  dat  how  come  you  change  yo'  name?" 
Conko  asked  in  polite  tones. 

"Oh,  no;  it  wasn't  as  bad  as  that,"  Zodono 
laughed.  "But  I  could  never  make  any  money 
in  my  business  with  my  real  name.  A  spiritualistic 
medium,  fortune-teller,  magician,  and  hypnotist 
named  Jim  Skaggs — that  would  never  do.  What 
are  you  doing  here?" 

"I'se  prize-fightin',  Mr.  Jimmy.  I  been  fightin' 
up'n  down  de  Mississippi  River,  an'  I  come  here 
to  git  a  fight  dis  atternoon  wid  a  nigger  named 
Hitch  Diamond." 

"How  did  you  like  my  show  out  in  front?" 
Zodono  asked. 

"It  wus  fine,  Mr.  Jimmy!"  Conko  exclaimed  in 
enthusiastic  tones.  "Dat's  how  come  I  wants 
to  see  you.  I  would  like  to  'terrogate  you  'bout 
dat  show." 


Hoodoo  Eyes  51 

' 'What  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Whut  I  axes  you  is  dis, "  Conko  began;  "you 
s'pose  a  nigger  could  learn  how  to  hypnertize  like 
you?" 

Zodono  looked  at  Bill,  his  assistant,  and  winked. 
Then  he  answered: 

"Certainly,  Conko. " 

"How  is  it  did,  boss?"  the  negro  asked  eagerly. 

Zodono  looked  at  the  negro  for  a  moment  then 
grinned.  He  looked  at  Bill  and  Bill  grinned  back. 
Here  was  a  chance  to  have  some  fun. 

"You're  getting  ready  to  pull  some  hypnotic 
stunt  in  that  prize-fight  this  afternoon,  ain't  you 
Conko?"  the  professor  asked. 

"Yes,  suh, "  Conko  chuckled  like  a  rumbling 
train.  "I  rigger  ef  I  could  put  dat  fight  in'  coon 
to  sleep  like  you  done  dat  white  boy  in  front  of  de 
drug-sto',  dat  I  could  knock  him  out  widout 
wastin'  so  much  wind  an'  elbow-grease." 

"Well,"  Professor  Zodono  began,  "first  you 
walk  straight  up  to  the  subject  and  look  into 
his  eyes." 

"Which  eye  does  you  look  at  his  eyes  wid?" 
Conko  asked. 

"Both  eyes — your  own  eyes!"  Zodono  ex 
plained. 

"Yes,  suh." 

"Then  you  make  a  stroking  motion  in  front  of 
his  face  with  the  fingers  of  your  hand  extended 
like  you  were  combing  wool ' 

"Yes,  suh;  you  paws  at  him." 

"Then  you  bring  your  dominant  will  to  bear 


52  Hoodoo  Eyes 

upon  the  subject's  subconscious  mind,  willing 
him  to  sleep — to  stand  upright  and  sleep " 

"Dat  sounds  easy,"  Conko  grinned. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  do  that?"  Zodono 
inquired. 

' '  Suttinly.  Dat  is— mebbe  so.  I'd  shore  like  to 
try  it  one  time  befo'  I  hypnertized  dat  fightin' 
coon " 

"All  right.  I'll  let  you  try  it  on  a  white  man. 
If  you  can  hypnotize  a  white  man,  you  can  cer 
tainly  come  it  over  on  a  nigger.  We'll  try  it  on 
Bill." 

Zodono  turned  and  glanced  at  his  assistant. 
That  glance  was  like  the  stroke  of  a  whip-lash, 
and  Bill  quailed  and  flinched,  the  grin  faded  from 
his  face,  and  the  flush  changed  to  a  deadly  pallor. 

"Now,  Conko,"  Zodono  commanded.  "Walk 
right  up  to  Bill.  Look  straight  into  his  eyes." 

Bill  stood  like  a  rag  doll,  or  anything  else  you 
can  think  of  which  is  spineless  and  helpless  and 
non-resistant. 

Conko  walked  up  and  glared  into  Bill's  listless, 
humid  eyes  like  a  monstrous,  bloodthirsty  gorilla 
eying  a  wax  dummy.  Bill  did  not  see  the  negro, 
for  unknown  to  Conko,  the  tall  form  of  Zodono 
stood  just  behind  him,  and  the  professor's  eyes 
held  the  hypnotic  as  a  snake  charms  a  bird. 

"Now,"  Zodono  commanded  in  sharp  tones  to 
the  darky,  "make  a  stroking  motion  before  his 
face — slow — slow — slow.  Now  bring  your  will 
to  bear  upon  his  subconscious  mind — that's  it. 
Sleep — sleep — sleep — ah ! " 


Hoodoo  Eyes  53 

With  a  horrified  expression  upon  his  face,  Conko 
stood  staring  at  the  face  of  the  man  before  him. 
The  hypnotic  slowly  teetered  forward  and  back 
ward,  threatening  with  each  swaying  movement 
to  lose  his  balance  and  tumble  over. 

' '  Catch  him ! ' '  Zodono  commanded  sharply. 

Conko  sprang  forward  and  eased  the  falling 
man  to  the  floor. 

"My  Gawd!"  a  strange  negro  voice  exclaimed. 
"Did  anybody  ever  see  de  beat  of  dat?" 

Professor  Zodono  wheeled  and  stared  at  the 
frightened  face  of  a  large,  full-bosomed,  golden- 
brown  girl,  whose  long,  straight,  black  hair  clung 
around  her  face,  by  contrast  making  her  octoroon 
complexion  almost  white.  Her  bold,  black  eyes 
were  big  with  wonder  and  awe,  and  the  hands 
clasped  over  her  bosom  were  trembling. 

"What  do  you  want?"  Zodono  snapped. 

"I  come  fer  de  washin',"  the  girl  stammered; 
"but  I  wants  to  git  outen  here  real  prompt." 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  the  professor  said,  as  he 
walked  over  to  a  table  where  a  pile  of  soiled  cur 
tains  were  stacked.  "That  man  is  not  dead;  just 
sleeping." 

The  girl  backed  around  behind  Zodono  and 
peeped  at  Conko. 

"Kin  dat  nigger  wake  dat  white  man  up?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,"  Zodono  answered.  Then  he  called  to 
Mukes :  ' '  Wake  him  up,  Conko ! ' ' 

Conko  leaned  over,  shook  Bill  by  the  shoulder, 
and  bellowed: 


54  Hoodoo  Eyes 

"Git  up,  Mr.  Bill!  De  bossman  say  fer  you  to 
git  up!" 

But  Bill  slept  on.     Zodono  laughed. 

"Bring  your  dominant  mind  to  bear  upon  his 
subjective  consciousness,  Conko, "  he  grinned. 

Conko  grabbed  Bill  on  each  side  of  his  face, 
glared  into  his  eyes,  and  howled : 

"Hey,  Bill;  git  up!  Don't  you  hear  me  tellin' 
you?  Wake  up!" 

While  this  was  going  on,  Zodono  asked  the  girl : 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Dey  calls  me  Goldie,"  she  answered,  staring 
at  Conko  Mukes. 

"All  right,  Goldie.  Be  sure  to  bring  the  curtains 
back  to-morrow." 

But  Goldie  was  not  listening.  She  was  watch 
ing  Conko  struggling  with  the  inert  form  of  Bill. 

Finally  Conko  stood  up  and  strode  toward  the 
exit,  his  ugly  black  face  frightened  and  uneasy. 

"What's  the  matter,  Conko?"  Zodono  called. 
"Going?" 

"Yes,  suh.  I's  gwine,  Mr.  Jimmy,"  Conko 
answered  nervously.  "I — I — done  got  dat  white 
man  hypped,  an'  I — I — cain't  unhyp  him!" 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Conko  passed 
out  of  the  theater,  trotted  down  the  crooked  alley, 
and  hastened  to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon. 

"Skeeter!"  he  boomed.  "If  you  got  any 
money  to  bet,  you  bet  it  on  me!  I's  gwine  to  pull 
a  stunt  on  dat  Hitch  Diamond  dis  atternoon 
whut'll  make  all  de  coons  in  Tickfall  think  I 
done  borrered  de  debbil's  own  knockout  draps!" 


Hoodoo  Eyes  55 

A  short  distance  from  Tickfall  where  the  Dor- 
foche  Bayou  widened  into  a  small  lake,  and  where 
pine-trees  grew  thick  and  shady  upon  a  sandy 
plain  was  the  negro  baseball  park  and  picnic 
grounds. 

Hundreds  of  negroes  had  assembled  here  to 
witness  the  prize-fight  between  Hitch  Diamond, 
the  Tickfall  Tiger,  and  Conko  Mukes,  the  Georgia 
Cyclone.  The  women  were  as  numerous  as  the 
men,  and  all  were  betting  wildly  on  the  result. 

Skeeter  Butts,  backing  Conko  Mukes,  was  in  a 
blue  funk. 

He  had  bet  forty  dollars,  and  called  that  the 
limit  until  Conko  informed  him  that  he  possessed 
a  hoodoo-stunt  which  would  decide  the  contest  in 
his  own  favor;  then  Skeeter  had  hazarded  sixty 
dollars  more.  He  found  takers  so  readily  that  he 
had  lost  all  courage  and  enthusiasm  for  his  pugilist. 
He  considered  his  money  as  good  as  gone. 

A  rude,  squared  ring  had  been  roped  off  on  the 
edge  of  the  little  lake  by  the  simple  process  of 
stretching  the  rope  from  one  sapling  to  another 
as  a  woman  fixes  a  clothes-line.  The  ground, 
rising  from  the  edge  of  the  water  presented  a 
natural  amphitheater  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  spectators. 

Many  a  prize-fight  had  occurred  at  this  spot, 
in  most  of  which  the  whites  had  taken  a  prominent 
part,  being  interested  spectators  and  extravagant 
gamblers.  But  to-day  no  white  people  were  on 
the  ground. 

When  Hitch  Diamond  emerged  from  the  plum- 


56  Hoodoo  Eyes 

thicket  which  had  served  for  a  dressing-room,  his 
seconds  behind  him,  and  stalked  through  the 
crowd  to  the  ring,  a  wild  burst  of  greeting  and 
applause  went  up  from  his  waiting  fellow  towns 
men,  all  of  whom,  except  Skeeter  Butts  and  Figger 
Bush,  had  backed  him  to  the  limit  at  any  odds. 

Hitch  bowed  right  and  left,  waved  his  giant 
arms  at  the  people  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  and 
listened  with  hungry  ears  to  their  pleas: 

''We're  bettin'  on  you,  Hitch;  don't  make  us  lose 
our  money!" 

"Knock  him  out,  Hitchey!  Den  us'll  all  be 
rich!" 

Hitch  ducked  through  the  ropes  and  walked  to 
his  corner,  where  he  sat  down  upon  a  folding  stool. 

Vinegar  Atts,  the  referee,  came  over  and  shook 
Hitch  by  the  hand.  Atts  was  a  broken-down 
pugilist  whom  the  Lord  had  called  to  preach 
after  his  last  K.  0.,  and  he  and  Hitch  were  great 
friends. 

"How  you  feelin',  Hitchey?"  Vinegar  wanted 
to  know. 

"Feel  as  sweet  as  a  fly  in  a  vat  of  merlasses, " 
Hitch  grinned. 

"Don't  let  yo'  knock-out  punch  git  sour," 
Vinegar  grinned.  "I  got  all  my  loose  change  on 
you." 

There  was  another  roar  of  applause,  and  Conko 
Mukes  emerged  from  his  plum-thicket  and  came 
through  the  crowd,  his  knotty,  shaved  head  shining 
in  the  sun  like  a  block  of  ivory.  His  scarred  and 
villainous  face,  with  its  mashed  lips  and  broken 


Hoodoo  Eyes  57 

nose  and  iron  jaw,  glowed  with  excitement  and 
enthusiasm. 

The  mob  applauded  without  partizanship  as  he 
climbed  through  the  ropes  and  sat  down  in  his 
corner. 

Each  pugilist  eyed  the  other  curiously,  but 
neither  could  see  much,  for  both  were  swathed 
in  horse-blankets. 

Prince  Total  and  a  scar-faced  negro  named 
Possum,  Hitch  Diamond's  seconds,  slipped  on 
Hitch's  gloves  and  laced  them  tight,  while  Skeeter 
Butts  and  Figger  Bush  performed  the  same  office 
for  Conko  Mukes. 

Then  the  seconds  removed  the  heavy  woolen 
horse-blankets,  and  the  two  fighters  stood  forth 
in  their  ring  costumes,  visible  in  all  their  fighting 
strength  for  the  first  time  to  the  crowd — both  men 
deep-chested,  heavy-thewed,  with  muscles  which 
moved  like  live  snakes  under  their  black-satin' 
skins,  their  bodies  acrawl  with  life  and  brutal 
power. 

The  two  men  advanced  and  touched  gloves. 

Then  something  happened  which  would  make 
old  John  L.  Sullivan  laugh  till  he  dislocated  his 
iron  jaw. 

You  who  follow  the  fistic  combats  of  Jess 
Willard  and  other  white  hopes  and  hopelessnesses, 
know  that  for  months  before  the  combatants 
meet  in  the  ring  their  press-agents  are  busy  in 
forming  the  public  what  each  pugilist  says  he 
expects  to  do  to  his  opponent. 

In   the   negro   prize-fights   in   the   South,    the 


58  Hoodoo  Eyes 

pugilist,  lacking  the  press-agent,  demands  the 
right  to  make  a  speech  before  each  round  of 
the  fight,  in  which  he  tells  his  friends  and  backers 
what  he  expects  to  do  to  his  opponent  in  the  next 
round. 

Can  you  beat  that? 

So,  in  accordance  with  this  custom,  after  the 
two  fighters  had  touched  gloves,  Hitch  Diamond 
went  back  to  his  corner  and  sat  down. 

Conko  Mukes  stepped  to  the  middle  of  the  ring 
and  bellowed : 

"I's  de  great  unwhupped  Tuskeegee  Cyclome. 
I  fights  any  nigger  whut  misdoubts  my  words! 
I's  de  brayin'  jackass  of  Georgia,  an'  no  nigger  in 
Tickfall  cain't  comb  my  mane!" 

He  sprang  up,  cracked  his  heels  together, 
waved  his  gorilla-like  arms  in  the  air,  and  ut 
tered  a  piercing  whoop  which  echoed  like  a  steam- 
whistle  far  down  the  Dorfoche  Bayou. 

Thereupon  Hitch  Diamond  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  howled : 

"I  fights  any  nigger  in  the  worl'  fer  two  bits, 
fer  a  chaw  terbaccer,  fer  a  watermillyum  rind, 
fer  de  tail  of  a  tadpole!'' 

He  jumped  three  feet  in  the  air,  cracked  his 
heels  together  like  two  clapboards,  and  shrieked : 

'Ts  de  Tickfall  Tiger,  an'  I  kin  curry  dat  Geor 
gia  jackass  fo'  inches  under  his  hide!" 

Then  the  seconds  clattered  out  of  the  ring  with 
their  folding  stools,  and  the  two  men  advanced  and 
took  their  fighting  attitudes. 

Pap  Curtain  picked  up  a  baseball  bat  and  struck 


,. 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

Tse  de  braying  jack-ass  of  Georgia,  an'  no  nigger 
in  Tickfall  cain't  comb  my  mane." 


Hoodoo  Eyes  59 

a  large  wagon-tire  suspended  from  a  tree  on  the 
edge  of  the  bayou.  This  was  the  gong. 

"Time!"  the  referee  shouted. 

"Go  fer  his  stomick,  Conko!"  Skeeter  Butts 
squealed.  "Hit  an'  duck!  It's  de  best  thing 
you  kin  do!" 

Conko  hit  and  ducked;  and  Hitch  Diamond 
was  jarred  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones.  A 
cold  fury  took  the  place  of  Hitch's  smile. 

"Go  atter  him!  Foller  him  up!"  Skeeter 
squealed. 

Conko  shot  a  right  hook  at  Hitch,  who  neatly 
side-stepped;  then  Hitch  swung  a  terrible  left- 
hand  blow  at  the  giant  figure  before  him. 

"Right  cross— lef  hook,  Hitch— dat '11  fix  him!" 
Prince  Total  barked. 

Conko  ducked  and  saved  his  jaw,  but  the  blow 
landed  on  the  side  of  his  head.  It  was  too  high 
up  to  be  vitally  effective,  but  powerful  enough 
to  bring  a  black  veil  of  unconsciousness  across 
Conko's  mind.  All  faces  vanished  for  a  second; 
even  Hitch  Diamond  disappeared;  then  when 
Hitch  reappeared,  Conko  pecked  savagely  at  his 
stomach. 

Hitch  panted  like  a  winded  dog;  they  clinched, 
and  Hitch,  with  his  gorilla  reach,  pounded  his 
enemy  over  the  kidneys. 

"Hey,  dar!  Break  'em!  No  fair  hittin'  in 
clinches!"  the  crowd  of  Conko  backers  yelled. 

Vinegar  Atts  grinned,  yanked  the  pair  out  of 
the  clinch,  and  a  wolflike  howl  rose  from  the 
crowd.  Hitch  Diamond  had  landed  a  mighty 


60  Hoodoo  Eyes 

blow  in  Conko's  stomach,  and  the  Georgia  Cyclone 
had  fallen  to  his  knees ! 

Vinegar  Atts  began  to  count : 

' '  Fo' — five — six — seben — eight ' ' 

"Git  up,  Conko!"  Skeeter  Butts  screamed  in 
agony.  "Per  Gawd's  sake " 

"Nine " 

Conko's  leap  upward  at  this  word  carried  him 
within  striking  distance  of  Hitch  Diamond,  and 
the  crowd  yelled  wildly  at  a  whirlwind  rush  which 
sent  Hitch  slipping  and  leaping  like  a  flying 
shuttle  to  guard  himself  from  the  wild  insurgence 
of  that  furious  onslaught. 

The  end  of  the  round  found  both  combatants 
laughing. 

Skeeter  Butts,  for  his  part,  was  alternately 
sweating  cold  and  hot,  and  as  nervous  as  a  cat 
amid  a  pack  of  pop-crackers. 

The  two  men  sat  down  in  their  corners,  lying 
back  with  outstretched  legs,  resting  their  arms 
outstretched  upon  the  ropes,  gulping  in  the  air 
fanned  at  them  from  the  towels  of  the  seconds. 
Their  eyes  were  closed,  and  the  roar  of  the  crowd 
was  a  mighty  thunder  in  their  ears. 

The  gong  struck,  and  Conko  Mukes  stepped 
to  the  middle  of  the  ring. 

"I  done  got  dis  here  Hitch  Diamond's  number! " 
he  bawled.  "Hitch  ain't  nothin'  but  a  big  gob 
of  meat,  an'  I's  gwine  fry  him  in  his  own  grease! 
Ef  you  got  any  money  to  bet,  bet  it  all  on  me.  I's 
de  wild  ole  ram  of  de  Georgia  swamp,  an'  no  nigger 
cain't  pick  de  cockle-burs  outen  my  wool!" 


Hoodoo  Eyes  61 

He  bent  his  huge  body,  ducked  his  head  in 
excellent  imitation  of  a  sheep,  and  bleated  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  a  mile. 

Hitch  Diamond  sprang  to  his  feet  and  whooped : 

'Ts  de  swamp  wildcat  whut  kin  claw  de  cockle- 
burs  outen  dat  ole  buck's  wool!" 

He  screamed  in  perfect  imitation  of  a  Louisiana 
panther  and  met  Conko  Mukes  in  the  middle  of  the 
ring. 

Then  Hitch  Diamond  presented  a  wonderful 
exhibition  of  skill  and  quickness,  going  in  and  out 
again,  landing  a  blow  to  the  eyes,  to  the  jaw,  to 
the  ribs,  ducking  a  counter,  dancing  lightly  away, 
dancing  lightly  in,  with  quick,  deft,  dangerous 
blows,  rushing  things,  and  waiting  for  an  opening 
left  by  that  slow-moving  man  before  him. 

That  opening  came,  and  Hitch's  right  arm 
flashed  into  it,  a  right  hook  with  all  the  weight  of 
his  pouncing  body  behind  it.  Conko  Mukes  fell 
like  the  rotten  trunk  of  a  tree  falls  in  the  forest. 
The  crowd  sighed  like  a  great  furnace,  and  a  ripple 
of  awestricken  applause  began  close  to  the  ringside 
and  rolled  like  a  wave  to  the  edge  of  the  amphi 
theater. 

As  Conko  took  the  count,  a  golden-brown  girl 
with  large,  bold,  black  eyes  and  long,  straight,  coal- 
black  hair  which  made  her  octoroon  complexion 
appear  almost  white,  walked  up  close  to  the  ring. 
The  hands  clasped  over  her  full  bosom  were 
trembling,  and  her  eyes  glowed  like  coals  of  fire. 

It  was  Goldie,  Hitch  Diamond's  wife. 

"Look  out,  Hitchey!"  she  exclaimed.     "Don't 


62  Hoodoo  Eyes 

let  dat  Conko  Mukes  git  too  close  to  you !  Knock 
him  out  in  dis  round!  I  knows  somepin  'bout 
him  dat  you  don't  know!" 

"He  don't  looksoawfuldangersomenow,Goldie," 
Hitch  replied,  grinning  at  his  wife,  as  she  stood  by 
the  ropes. 

Conko  Mukes  had  rolled  over  and  knelt  on  one 
knee,  listening  as  Vinegar  Atts  stood  over  him 
counting  in  a  loud  voice.  At  the  ninth  he  arose . 

Springing  across  the  ring  with  lightning  quick 
ness,  Conko  landed  a  blow  on  Hitch's  jaw  just  as 
he  turned  away  from  his  wife;  with  a  grunt,  Hitch 
fell  flat  to  the  ground  within  reach  of  Goldie's 
hand.  But  the  blow  had  been  too  hastily  delivered 
and  missed  the  point  of  the  jaw  by  an  inch.  In 
an  instant  Hitch  was  up  and  fighting  like  a  panther. 

The  rest  of  the  round  was  a  nigger  whirlwind 
finish.  The  darkies  grappled  like  clumsy  grizzlies, 
punching,  biting,  wrestling,  growling  ferociously. 
Around  and  around,  they  butted  and  pushed, 
bellowing  and  braying,  striking  any  sort  of  blows, 
landing  them  everywhere  they  could,  while  the 
crowd  cheered  each  man  as  he  gained  a  slight 
advantage  without  partizanship. 

When  the  men  retired  to  their  corners  the 
crowd  went  mad,  and  the  voices  were  yelling: 
1 '  Go  it ,  Hitch ! "  "  Knock  his  block  off,  Conko ! ' ' 
"Kill  him  dead,  Hitch!"  "You'll  git  him  in 
de  nex'  round,  Conko!" 

As  for  Skeeter  Butts,  he  could  have  qualified 
for  the  lunatic  asylum. 

"Per  Gawd's  sake,  Conko,"  he  chattered,  "ef 


Hoodoo  Eyes  63 

you  got  any  hoodoo  stunts  to  wuck  on  Hitch,  you 
better  wuck  'em.  Dat  nigger's  done  had  you  down 
two  times " 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  Conko  rumbled  as  he  breathed 
in  the  air  from  Skeeter's  flapping  towel.  "I's 
gwine  pull  dat  stuff  in  de  nex'  round.  I's  savin' 
it  fer  de  third,  because  de  third  time  is  de 
charm." 

"De  Lawd'll  shorely  bless  you  fer  sayin'  that, 
Conko, "  Skeeter  panted,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
"My  Gawd,  ef  us  don't  win,  I'll  sho'  wish  I'd  been 
borned  a  corn-field  mule!" 

The  gong  sounded  for  the  third  round. 

Conko  Mukes  stepped  in  the  middle  of  the  ring 
and  howled : 

"In  dis  here  nex'  roun'  I's  gwine  win  out.  I's 
gwine  hypnertize  dis  here  Hitch  Diamond  an'  put 
him  to  sleep.  I'll  take  one  look  at  his  ugly  mug 
wid  my  right  eye,  an'  he'll  stan'  up  in  dis  ring  like  a 
dead  man  on  his  foots " 

"My  Gawd,  Hitchey!"  Goldie  screamed  as 
she  pressed  through  the  crowd  and  grabbed  the 
ropes  by  Hitch.  "  Look  out  fer  dat  nigger !  He'll 
git  you  hypped,  an'  he  cain't  unhyp  you!"  Then 
she  turned  and  ran  toward  Tickfall  like  a  yellow 
streak. 

"Dat's  right,  sister!"  Conko  Mukes  bellowed 
as  he  watched  her  departure.  "You  don't  'pear 
to  be  anxious  to  stay  an'  see  it  done,  but  dat's 
yo'  Uncle  Conko's  little  game!  Dis  here  Hitch 
Diamond  is  gwine  to  sleep,  an'  I  don't  keer  ef  he 
never  wakes  up!" 


64  Hoodoo  Eyes 

As  Conko  sat  down  Hitch  arose  and  smiled  at 
the  crowd. 

"I  never  goes  to  sleep  till  I  wins!"  he  bawled. 
4 '  Conko  is  done  made  a  miscue  'bout  who  is  gwine 
take  a  nap.  I's  de  real  old  fat  mammy  whut'll 
sing  HT  baby  Conko  to  sleep!" 

Thereupon  Conko  Mukes  performed  a  stunt 
which  had  never  before  been  witnessed  in  a 
pugilistic  ring,  and  which  Conko  in  his  sub 
sequent  career  never  attempted  to  duplicate. 

He  sprang  toward  Hitch  Diamond,  sparred 
for  a  moment,  clinched,  and  shrieked  like  a  cal 
liope  : 

"Sleep!  Sleep!  Sleep,  Hitch  Diamond— go  to 
sleep!" 

This  wonderful  performance  scared  Hitch  Dia 
mond  nearly  out  of  his  wits. 

He  broke  from  the  clinch,  smashed  Conko  against 
the  ropes,  and  then  began  hooking  and  driving  all 
sorts  of  blows  against  him,  tearing  himself  out  of 
Conko's  frenzied  clinches,  punching  him,  shoving 
him  against  the  ropes  again  and  again  until  the 
cypress  saplings  to  which  the  ropes  were  attached 
bowed  beneath  the  storm  and  weight  of  human 
contestants. 

Through  it  all,  like  some  mighty  chant,  the 
stentorian  voice  of  Conko  rumbled  the  dreadful 
malediction : 

"Sleep!  Sleep!  Go  to  sleep,  Hitch  Diamond 
-sleep!" 

But  Hitch  never  rested  a  moment,  and  Conko, 
looking  for  an  opening  to  get  in  his  hypnotic  eye- 


Hoodoo  Eyes  65 

work,  let  Hitch  chase  him  all  around  the  ring  a 
dozen  times. 

There  were  three  minutes  of  this  screaming  farce, 
and  when  it  ended,  Hitch  Diamond  was  reeling 
and  staggering  from  his  wild  chase  around  the 
ring,  and  his  legs  were  cramping  under  him  and 
felt  like  lead. 

Without  knowing  it,  Hitch  had  spun  around 
like  a  top  for  three  minutes,  and  a  natural  dizziness 
was  upon  him,  and  before  his  bewildered  eyes  the 
crowd  of  faces  sagged  and  swayed,  disappeared 
and  reappeared. 

Again  and  again  he  had  struck  at  Conko  and 
missed.  When  the  round  had  ended,  Hitch  found 
himself  swinging  on  to  Mukes  with  all  his  weight 
to  keep  from  falling  to  the  floor,  while  Conko 's 
bellowing  was  like  the  distant  thunder  of  the  surf 
in  his  ear,  sounding  afar  off: 

"Sleep!  Sleep!  Sleep,  Hitch  Diamond,  go  to 
sleep!" 

When  Conko  Mukes  walked  to  his  corner  he 
was  jubilant.  He  faced  the  crowd  of  wondering 
coons,  placed  his  gloved  hands  to  the  side  of  his 
face,  and  crowed  like  a  rooster. 

"I  got  him  goin',  niggers!"  he  squalled.  "He's 
wabbly  on  his  foots !  One  mo'  roundance,  an'  dat 
big  fat  stiff  will  go  to  sleep  an'  never  wake  up 
no  mo'!" 

He  sank  down  upon  his  camp-stool,  and  his 
heaving  chest  and  abdomen  sucked  in  the  air  in 
great,  hungry  gulps. 

Skeeter  Butts  worked  like  an  engine,  cackling 


66  Hoodoo  Eyes 

his  delight  at  his  hero's  wonderful  pugilistic 
ruse. 

"You  got  him  skeart,  Conko, "  Skeeter  squawked 
in  a  voice  hoarse  with  excitement.  "One  mo' 
roun'  wid  dat  hypnertize-eye,  an'  dat'll  be  his 
finish.  Don't  let  him  bat  yo'  hoodoo-eyes  out!" 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  round  Conko 
Mukes  proceeded  to  steal  some  of  Professor  Dodo 
Zodono's  thunder. 

"Feller  cit'zens, "  he  howled,  "I's  gwine  gib 
you  a  little  demerstration  of  my  powers. 

"In  dis  nex'  roun',  you'll  see  wonders  whut  no 
man  cain't  account  fer!  You-all  will  hear  noises 
whut  defy  all  de  laws  of  soundance!  You  gwine 
behold  appearances  whut  fly  in  de  face  of  scruti- 
nation !  Us  is  gwine  demerstrate  eff ecks  whut  ain't 
got  no  resemble  cause — all  free-fer-nothin' ! " 

He  sat  down  with  a  happy  grin  on  his  horrible 
face,  and  Hitch  Diamond  stood  up  to  proclaim: 

"I  ain't  never  fit  in  de  ring  wid  no  lunatic  befo'. 
I  ain't  gwine  waste  no  time  gittin'  done  wid  dis 
fight,  neither.  While  Conko  Mukes  is  pullin'  all 
dem  stunts  he's  braggin'  'bout,  I's  gwine  knock  de 
stuffin'  outen  his  black  hide!" 

The  two  men  advanced  to  the  center  of  the  ring, 
circled  slowly  around  while  Conko  began  his 
monotonous,  bellowing  chant : 

"Sleep!  Sleep!  Sleep,  Hitch  Diamond- 
sleep!" 

Still  keeping  well  out  of  reach  of  Hitch's  punch, 
Conko  waved  his  right  hand  slowly  in  front  of  his 
opponent's  face,  as  if  he  were  stroking  invisible 


Hoodoo  Eyes  67 

fur  with  his  glove.  Hitch  followed  him  slowly, 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  land  a  knock-out  blow. 

Then  upon  Hitch  Diamond's  slow  mind  there 
slowly  dawned  the  meaning  of  all  this. 

He  had  witnessed  the  hypnotic  exhibition  before 
the  drug-store  earlier  in  the  day,  and  recognized 
portions  of  the  speech  which  Conko  had  recited, 
and  noticed  a  similarity  between  Conko' s  gestures 
and  the  actions  of  Professor  Dodo  Zodono. 

Then  Hitch's  dull  eyes  began  to  glow  with 
strange  interior  fires. 

With  the  negro's  knack  for  imitation,  Hitch's 
gloved  hands  dropped,  his  giant  arms  dangled  at 
his  sides,  and  he  began  to  move  toward  Conko 
Mukes  with  stiff  legs,  as  if  someone  had  him  by 
the  shoulders  leading  him  forward,  as  if  the  hinge 
joints  of  his  hips  were  rusty,  and  hurt  him  when  he 
walked. 

The  crowd  gasped  and  uttered  awe-stricken 
exclamations. 

Slowly  Hitch  advanced  until  he  was  well  within 
reach  of  Conko  Mukes 's  protruding  jaw. 

Then  the  sleepy  lion  suddenly  thrust  out  a 
raging  paw — there  was  the  sharp  snap  of  leather 
against  human  bone — an  electric  globe  burst  in 
Conko  Mukes 's  puny  brain,  and  darkness  en 
veloped  the  great  originator  of  the  pugilistic 
hoodoo-eyes ! 

"I  knows  whut  I  done  to  dat  big  stiff!"  Hitch 
grinned  as  he  turned  to  walk  back  to  his  corner. 

Then  a  loud  shout  arose  from  the  crowd  and 
Hitch  whirled  and  looked  behind  him. 


68  Hoodoo  Eyes 

In  spite  of  that  terrific  blow,  Conko  Mukes  was 
on  his  feet  again ! 

The  ropes  around  the  rudely  constructed  ring 
had  been  under  such  a  strain  during  the  fight  that 
when  Conko  Mukes  reeled  back  against  them 
they  broke,  and  the  inert  body  of  the  pugilist 
rolled  into  the  ice-cold  waters  of  Dorfoche  Lake! 

At  the  moment,  when  Conko  rose  and  stood 
waist-deep  in  the  water  of  the  little  lake,  he  heard 
a  woman's  voice,  screaming  like  a  swamp  panther : 

"Run,  niggers,  run!  De  white  folks  is  com- 
in'!" 

Conko  looked  up  and  beheld  a  hundred  white 
men  following  close  behind  Goldie  Diamond,  as  the 
girl  ran  toward  them  like  a  yellow  streak,  pro 
claiming  with  a  Gabriel-trumpet  tone: 

"Run,  niggers,  run!  De  white  folks  is  com- 
in'!" 

For  one  tense  moment  the  crowd  of  blacks 
huddled  together  like  quails  bunch  before  a  wind 
storm.  Then,  with  one  voice,  a  squall  of  fear  split 
the  sky,  and  the  mob  whirled  like  Dervishes  and 
bumped  into  each  other  like  blind  bugs  in  a  tin 
can. 

After  that,  with  one  accord,  they  went  into 
the  woods,  leaping  stumps  and  logs,  tearing  their 
garments  to  shreds  upon  the  snags  and  vines, 
falling  and  rising  again,  miring  themselves  in 
the  muck  of  the  swamp,  howling  like  a  wolf-pack, 
their  voices  echoing  through  the  forest  with 
terrifying  reverberations. 

Conko  Mukes  dived  back  into  the  lake,  swam 


Hoodoo  Eyes  69 

across  it,  and  hid  in  the  deep  marsh-grass  on  the 
other  side  until  after  dark. 

The  next  morning,  Sheriff  John  Flournoy  met 
Skeeter  Butts  and  inquired : 

"Skeeter,  what  made  you  niggers  run  off  yester 
day  when  we  came  out  to  see  the  fight?*' 

' '  Dunno,  Marse  John, ' '  Skeeter  grinned.  ' '  You 
know  how  niggers  is.  We  figgered  mebbe  you 
white  folks  didn't  favor  prize-fights." 

"That's  what  I  don't  understand,"  Flournoy 
replied.  "Goldie  Diamond  came  running  to 
town  and  told  us  the  niggers  were  having  a  prize 
fight,  and  when  we  went  out  to  see  it,  she  raised 
a  whoop  and  scared  all  the  niggers  away." 

"Yes,  suh,"  Skeeter  grinned.  "Dat's  whut 
she  done." 

"Why  did  she  do  it?"     Flournoy  persisted. 

"Well,  suh,  I  s'pose  Goldie  thought  Hitch  wus 
gwine  git  knocked  out.  Anyways,  I's  powerful 
glad  it  happened,  Marse  John.  Ef  dat  hadn't 
come  to  pass,  Skeeter  Butts  would  be  bankbust 
by  dis  time  in  de  mawnin'." 

Flournoy  turned  away  by  no  means  satisfied, 
but  confident  that  there  was  some  nigger  secret 
in  the  matter  which  the  darkies  would  never 
reveal. 

Skeeter  left  him  and  hastened  down  to  the 
Hen-Scratch  saloon  where  he  found  Hitch  Dia 
mond  and  Conko  Mukes  waiting  for  him. 

The  two  pugilists  and  their  seconds  had  spent 
nearly  all  night  straightening  out  their  finances 


70  Hoodoo  Eyes 

after  the  bets  had  been  declared  off,  and  the  fight 
had  run  off. 

Conko  Mukes  had  been  drinking  heavily  and 
was  in  a  bad  humor. 

"I  got  jes'  one  thing  ag'in'  you,  Hitch,'*  he 
growled,  "an'  dat  is  dat  las'  punch  you  gib  me  on 
de  jaw.  You  acked  like  you  wus  hypnertized, 
an'  I  wusn't  lookin'  fer  no  punch.  I  don't  think 
dat  wus  plum'  fair." 

"Dat  shore  wus  a  jolter,  Conko, "  Hitch  grinned. 
"Lawd,  I'll  remember  dat  after  I'm  done  dead!'* 

Conko  Mukes 's  eyes  glowed  with  evil  intent  as 
he  listened  to  Hitch's  delighted  chuckles.  Finally 
Conko  said : 

"But  I  fooled  you  'bout  dat  hypnertize,  Hitch. 
You  thought  it  wus  my  eyes,  an'  I  didn't  hyp 
you  wid  my  eyes.'* 

"Dat's  a  fack,"  Hitch  chuckled.  "Whut  did 
you  aim  to  use  on  me?'* 

"I  hypnertized  you  wid  my  wavin'  hand,  like 
dis — "  Conko  explained  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  to 
illustrate.  His  right  hand  began  a  slow  chopping 
motion  in  front  of  Hitch's  face,  and  he  continued : 
"You  gotter  git  up  real  close  and  wave  slow — slow 
—slow " 

Suddenly  Conko's  fist  shot  out  with  a  blow  like 
a  trip-hammer. 

The  punch  would  have  broken  his  jaw — only 
the  jaw  was  not  there. 

Hitch  ducked  with  lightning  quickness  and  rose 
to  his  feet  ready  for  business. 

Conko  sprang  toward  the  door,  but  tripped  over 


Hoodoo  Eyes  71 

Hitch's  extended  foot,  and  fell  on  his  head  with  a 
jar  which  shook  two  bottles  off  the  shelf  behind  the 
bar. 

Hitch  stooped  and  raised  Conko  to  his  feet, 
backed  him  to  the  far  end  of  the  saloon  away  from 
the  door,  and  shoved  him  against  the  wall  with 
such  force  that  a  picture  of  Abraham  "Lincum" 
was  dislodged  from  its  nail  and  fell  clattering  to 
the  floor. 

"Ef  you  wasn't  drunk,  I'd  kill  you!"  Hitch 
bawled,  while  Conko  stood  looking  around  him 
like  a  man  in  a  dream.  "As  'tis,  I's  only  gwine 
put  yo'  hoodoo  eyes  on  de  bum!" 

The  job  was  quickly,  neatly  done — two  slight 
taps  on  each  side  of  Conko's  nose. 

"Now  git!"  Hitch  commanded,  pointing  to 
ward  the  door. 

Conko  Mukes  did  not  linger.  When  the  swing 
ing  doors  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  closed  behind 
him,  Hitch  and  Skeeter  walked  out  to  the  street. 

Far  down  the  road  a  streak  of  flying  dust  marked 
the  route  Conko  had  chosen  as  he  left  Tickfall 
forever. 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor. 

"WHAT  are  you  doing  here,  nigger?" 

Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill's  voice  cracked  like  a  whip 
beside  the  ear  of  Pap  Curtain. 

Pap  had  three  baseballs  in  his  hand  for  which 
he  had  paid  a  nickel,  and  which  he  intended  to 
throw  at  a  row  of  nigger  babies  about  forty  feet 
away.  The  tall  baboon-faced  negro,  with  shifty 
eyes,  furtive  manner,  and  lips  that  sneered,  started 
like  a  frightened  animal.  The  balls  dropped 
from  his  nerveless  hands  and  he  turned  away. 

"Per  Gawd's  sake,  Marse  Tom,"  he  chattered, 
speaking  under  a  visible  strain,  his  eyeballs  nearly 
popping  out  of  his  head.  "I  shore  didn't  soupspi- 
cion  dat  you  wus  snoopin'  aroun'  here  nowheres." 

Gaitskill's  face  grew  red  with  annoyance.  The 
veins  in  his  neck  swelled  and  his  eyes  snapped. 

"Where  are  all  those  other  coons?"  he  de 
manded.  ' '  Did  they  run  off  too  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  suh;  dey  said  dar  wus  plenty  time  to  pick 
dat  cotton  an*  de  trouts  wus  bitin'  fine  down  in  de 
bayou,  so  dey  all  hauled  off  and  went  fishin'. 
Dey  sont  me  to  town  fer  some  mo'  fishin'  lines,  an' 
I  jes'  stopped  here  a  minute  to  throw  at  dem  rag 

dolls " 

72 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         73 

"I'm  going  out  there  and  beat  some  sense  into 
those  niggers  with  a  black-snake  whip,"  Gaitskill 
told  him  in  a  dangerously  cool  voice.  "If  you 
don't  want  some  of  it  you'd  better  stay  away, 
understand  ?  And  if  you  ever  put  your  foot  in  my 
cotton-field  again  I'll  break  your  dashed  neck! 
Hear  me?" 

Pap  Curtain  stepped  back  and  his  voice  became 
a  pleading  whine.  He  glanced  behind  him  to 
assure  himself  that  the  road  was  clear  for  flight, 
and  began : 

"Don't  do  dat,  Marse  Tom.  You  know  how 
niggers  is.  Eve'y  day  is  restin'  time  an'  Sunday 
fer  a  nigger  ;  an'  when  de  trouts  is  bitin'  a  nigger 
jes'  nachelly  cain't  wuck.  It's  ag'in  nature " 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  Gaitskill  snarled  in  a  savage 
tone.  "  If  a  rain  should  come  it  would  beat  every 
bit  of  my  cotton  off  the  stalks  and  bury  it  in  the 
mud,  and  you  know  it " 

"I  tell  you  whut  I'll  do,  boss, "  Pap  interrupted. 
"You  know  I  is  always  done  jes'  whut  you  tole 
me — because  why?  You  is  a  powerful  good  white 
man,  an'  I  ain't  nothin'  but  a  poor  igernunt 
nigger.  Yes,  suh,  dat's  right. 

"Now,  ef  you  says  de  word,  I'll  hike  back  to  de 
Niggerheel  an'  tell  dem  niggers  dat  deir  lives 
ain't  fitten  to  last  no  time  onless  dey  draps  dem 
fish-poles  an'  drags  dem  cotton-sacks  down  de 
row  like  de  debbil  wus  bossin'  de  job.  Bar's 
fawty  of  'em,  Marse  Tom — fawty,  wuthless,  no- 
'count,  good-fer-nothin'  coons  done  laid  down  deir 
wuck  an'  gone  fishin' — dat's  whut  dey  done " 


74          The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

Pap  stopped.  Keenly  watching  the  tense  lips 
and  the  white,  angry  face  of  Gaitskill,  he  saw  that 
no  nigger  talk  would  placate  the  owner  of  the 
Niggerheel.  He  stood  shuffling  his  feet  in  the 
dirt  for  a  full  minute  before  Gaitskill  spoke. 

"Now,  Pap,  I  want  you  to  get  this:  I  have 
trouble  every  year  to  get  hands  to  pick  my  cot 
ton.  The  worthless  niggers  loaf  on  the  banks 
of  the  bayou  until  winter  catches  them  with 
nothing  to  eat,  nothing  to  wear,  and  not  a  dollar. 
Then  the  white  folks  in  Tickfall  have  to  support 
them." 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  a  shore,  certain  fack " 

"Shut  up,  you  crazy  buck!"  Gaitskill  snarled. 
"When  I  talk — you  listen.  You  are  the  worst 
idler  and  loafer  in  this  town,  and  I  tell  you  right 
now  that  you  had  better  leave  this  town.  Hear 
me?  Pack  up  your  rags  right  now  and  leave 
Tickfall,  and  don't  ever  come  back  again.  If  you 
do  I'll  have  you  arrested  for  vagrancy.  Hurry 
now !  Get  out  before  night ! ' ' 

"Oh,  Lawdy,  Marse  Tom,  I  been  livin'in  dis  here 
town  fer  sixty  year — I's  dug  all  de  water- wells  fer 
de  livin'  an'  all  de  graves  fer  de  dead — you  an' 
me  is  always  got  along  peaceable  'thout  no  hard 
feelin' " 

"Go  on  off!"  Gaitskill  commanded  in  hoarse 
tones.  "Hike!" 

Gaitskill  turned  away,  walked  rapidly  up  the 
street,  and  stepped  into  his  automobile.  There 
was  an  explosive  sound,  a  cloud  of  white  smoke 
hid  the  rear  wheels  for  a  moment,  then  the  big 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor          75 

car  swept  into  a  side  street,   going  toward  the 
Niggerheel  plantation. 

' '  Lawdymussy ! "  Pap  Curtain  sighed,  as  he 
walked  slowly  down  the  street  toward  his  cabin. 
' '  De  kunnel  done  gimme  my  good-riddunce  papers 
an'  axed  me  good-by!" 

Pap  sat  down  on  the  rickety  porch  of  his  cabin 
and  gazed  for  a  long  time  with  unseeing  vision 
straight  before  him.  Half  an  hour  passed,  an 
hour,  and  still  he  looked  into  the  thick  branches  of 
an  umbrella  china-tree  without  seeing  it. 

No  white  man  can  equal  the  absolute  absorp 
tion  in  thought,  the  intense  concentration  of 
attention  and  interest  which  a  negro  displays 
when  he  comes  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  in  his 
career.  And  no  white  man  can  foretell  a  negro's 
mental  conclusions  in  that  hour  of  stress  and 
need. 

Pap  did  not  want  to  leave  Tickfall,  yet  he  knew 
he  had  to  go.  Marse  Tom's  word  was  law  just 
as  much  so  as  if  the  big,  red-brick  court-house  had 
suddenly  formed  a  mouth  and  had  spoken. 

Pap  rose  from  his  chair,  gave  his  shoulders  a 
vigorous  shake,  lit  a  vile-smelling  corn-cob  pipe, 
changed  the  location  of  his  chair  from  the  porch 
to  the  shade  of  the  chinaberry  tree,  and  began  to 
talk  aloud  to^  himself : 

' '  Dat  white  man  shore  knifed  me  right  under  de 
fifteenth  rib!  Treated  me  jes'  like  I  wus  a  houn'- 
dawg — 'git  outen  dis  town!'  Mebbe  it's  all  a 
play-like  an'  he  didn't  mean  nothin' " 


76         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

But  the  more  he  thought  about  the  manner  and 
the  speech  of  Colonel  Gait  skill,  the  more  the  facts 
compelled  the  conviction  that  it  was  his  move. 
Then  the  thought  occurred  to  him : 

1 '  I  wonder  if  dese  here  town  niggers  tipped  Marse 
Tom  off  'bout  me?  A  whole  passel  of  'em  hates 
me — I  beats  'em  gamblin',  an'  I  beats  'em  tradin', 
an'  dey  all  knows  dey  ain't  vigorous  in  deir  mind 
like  me " 

Pap  pondered  for  many  minutes,  his  thick  lips 
pouting,  his  protruding  eyes  half  closed,  great  drops 
of  sweat  rolling  down  his  face.  His  pipe  went 
out,  the  bowl  became  loosened  and  fell  from  the 
stem,  but  he  took  no  notice. 

"Mebbe  dem  niggers  is  wucked  a'buzzo  on  me, 
an'  mebbe  dey  ain't,"  he  declared  at  last.  "I 
cain't  seem  to  make  up  my  remembrunce  'bout 
dat.  But  I  done  decided  on  one  fack:  ef  ole  Pap 
Curtain  is  gotter  leave  dis  town,  he's  gwine  gib 
dese  here  nigger  bad-wishers  of  his'n  a  whole  lot  to 
remember  him  by!" 

He  rose  and  walked  down  the  street  to  the  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon. 

In  the  rear  of  the  building  he  found  Figger  Bush. 
Walking  up  to  him  with  an  air  of  great  secrecy 
and  importance,  Pap  inquired: 

"  Figger,  is  you  de  proud  persesser  of  a  silber 
dollar?" 

' '  Sho'  is  ! "  Figger  grinned.  ' '  I  gwine  keep  on 
persessin'  it,  too!" 

"I  sells  tips!"  Pap  announced,  taking  a  chair 
beside  Figger.  ' '  One  dollar  per  tip  per  each ! ' ' 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         77 

"It  muss  be  wuth  somepin'  ef  it  comes  dat 
high!"  Figger  exclaimed  with  popping  eyeballs. 

"Yes,  suh;  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  gimme  de 
word  dis  mawnin',  an*  tole  me  I  could  pass  it  on 
to  a  choosen  few — ef  dey  had  a  dollar!" 

Figger  Bush  puffed  nervously  at  his  cigarette 
and  waited  anxiously.  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill's 
name  was  one  to  conjure  with,  and  Figger  knew 
that  Curtain  had  been  working  on  the  Niggerheel 
plantation. 

"Whut's  de  tip  about,  Pap?"  Figger  asked 
eagerly,  fumbling  with  the  lonesome  silver  dollar 
in  his  pocket. 

"Dat  would  be  tellin',"  Pap  grinned,  as  he 
leaned  back  and  watched  a  tiny  tree-spider  float 
ing  in  the  breeze  on  the  end  of  its  web. 

Figger  puffed  unconsciously  on  his  cigarette 
until  it  burned  down  to  his  lips  and  scorched  them ; 
he  snatched  it  out  of  his  mouth  and  blistered  his 
fingers ;  he  slapped  his  foot  upon  it  as  it  lay  on  the 
ground,  then  sprang  up  with  an  exclamation  and 
nursed  a  bare  spot  on  the  side  of  his  sockless  foot 
where  the  stub  had  burned  him  through  a  hole 
in  his  shoe. 

"Good  'gosh,  set  down!"  Pap  Curtain  howled 
as  he  watched  Figger 's  gyrations.  "You  gib  me 
de  fidgets  cuttin'  up  dat  way!" 

Figger  sank  back  in  his  seat,  and  Pap  again 
directed  his  attention  to  the  operations  of  the 
little  spider,  and  waited. 

"Cain't  you  gimme  no  hint  about  de  tip, 
Pap?"  Figger  asked  at  last.  "I  wants  to  git  in 


78         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

on  somepin  good,  but  I  cain't  affode  to  waste  no 
money." 

"Cross  yo'  heart  an'  body  dat  you  won't  tell 
nobody  an'  gimme  de  dollar.  Den,  when  I  tells 
you  de  secret,  ef  it  't  ain't  wuth  a  dollar,  I'll  hand 
you  de  loose  change  back." 

"Dat  sounds  resemble, "  Figger  declared,  and  the 
silver  dollar  changed  hands. 

"Now,  Figger,  you  listen,"  Pap  began  in  a 
mysterious  tone.  "Don't  you  tell  nobody,  fer 
Marse  Tom  swore  me  dat  he  didn't  want  nobody 
to  know  but  a  choosen  few.  Marse  Tom  is  gwine 
gib  a  great,  big,  cotton-pickin'  festerble  out  at  de 
Niggerheel.  He  pays  de  best  wages,  an'  he  wants 
de  bes'  pickers  in  de  parish.  De  tickets  is  one 
dollar,  whut  I  collecks  when  I  gibs  de  tip.  All 
de  niggers  is  to  meet  Marse  Tom  at  de  bank  dis 
atternoon  at  three  o'clock." 

"Huh!"  Figger  grunted.  "Dat  shore  sounds 
good  to  me.  Plenty  grub,  plenty  wages,  a  barrel 
of  cider  at  de  eend  of  de  cotton-row,  an'  all  de 
coons  on  a  cotton-pickin'  picnic!  Keep  de  dollar, 
Pap.  Me  an'  Marse  Tom  is  done  made  a  trade." 

Enthusiastic  over  the  idea,  Figger  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  started  away. 

"You  kin  succulate  de  repote  dat  somepin's 
doin',  Figger,"  Pap  grinned.  "But  don't  you 
gib  dat  tip  away.  Marse  Tom  spoke  me  special 
'bout  dat,  an'  say  he  gwine  bust  de  head  open  of 
de  nigger  whut  told  de  secret!" 

Pap  Curtain  stepped  into  the  rear  of  the  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon,  invested  a  part  of  Figger's  dollar 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         79 

in  a  long,  strong  Perique  stogy,  and  came  out 
again.  He  sat  for  half  an  hour  humming  to  him 
self,  chewing  the  end  of  the  stogy,  smoking  slowly, 
leisurely,  and  with  profound  meditation. 

He  was  giving  Figger  time  to  circulate  the  report. 
He  knew  that  the  grape-vine  telephone  was  already 
at  work,  and  that  the  news  of  a  big  profitable  deal 
would  trickle  and  ooze  into  every  negro  cabin  in  all 
the  negro  settlements  of  Tickfall. 

Prince  Total  was  the  first  darky  to  make  his 
appearance. 

"Whar's  yo'  silber  dollar,  Prince?"  Pap  ex 
claimed  with  a  broad  grin  before  Prince  had  time 
to  state  his  business.  "No  busted  niggers  needn't 
apply — tickets  is  one  dollar — Marse  Tom's  own 
price." 

"Whut  is  dis  doin's?"  Prince  inquired.  "Is 
Marse  Tom  git  tin'  up  a  nigger  excussion?" 

"Dat's  de  very  game!"  Pap  snickered.  "One 
dollar  per  each  ticket.  Marse  Tom  leaves  me  to 
pick  de  winners.  Plenty  brass-band  music,  plenty 
ice- water  on  de  way;  dancin'  on  de  deck  eve'y 
night — all  de  real  good  arrangements  whut  niggers 
likes.  You-all  knows  how  Marse  Tom  fixes  things 
up.  Cross  yo'  heart  an'  body  dat  you  won't  tell 
an'  gimme  one  round  silber  dollar  fer  de  tip!" 

Prince  crossed  Pap's  palm  with  silver  and 
listened  to  his  instructions: 

1 '  Go  see  Marse  Tom  at  de  bank  at  three  o'clock 
dis  atternoon ! " 

" Excussion  1"  Prince  panted.  "My,  dat's  a 
shore  'nough  word  to  ketch  a  nigger  by  de  year. 


80          The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

Gib  'em  somewhar  to  trabbel  an'  a  crowd  to  go 
wid — Lawd,  dat's  real  good  luck!  I's  gwine  out 
an'  succulate  dem  repote!" 

By  high  noon  Pap  Curtain's  pockets  were 
weighted  with  silver  and  he  had  revealed  the 
magical  tip  to  over  one  hundred  negroes. 

"Dis  here  is  suttinly  a  good  joke, "  he  snickered; 
"but  ef  I  keeps  it  up  too  long  I's  skeart  I'll  laugh 
myself  to  death.  I  got  a  hunch  dat  I  better  mosey 
along  todes  de  depot.  Marse  Tom  done  advise 
me  to  leave  dis  town." 

When  the  slow  accommodation  train  pulled 
into  the  depot,  Pap  Curtain  boarded  it  from  the 
side  farthest  from  the  station,  took  an  obscure  seat 
in  the  negro  coach,  and  did  his  best  to  attract  no 
attention  as  the  train  conveyed  him  away  from 
Tickfall. 

Only  one  negro  saw  him  go. 

At  three  o'clock  one  of  the  clerks  closed  the  big 
glass  doors  of  the  Tickfall  National  Bank  and  went 
back  to  his  desk. 

Ten  minutes  later  there  was  a  loud  knock  upon 
the  glass  door,  and  the  clerk  looked  up.  What  he 
saw  caused  him  to  spring  from  his  stool,  over 
turning  it  with  a  loud  clatter  upon  the  marble 
floor,  and  go  running  down  the  corridor  to  the 
president's  office. 

"Come  out  here  quick,  Colonel!"  the  clerk 
exclaimed,  his  hair  standing  on  end  and  cold  sweat 
dampening  his  forehead.  "God  only  knows  what 
has  got  into  the  heads  of  our  negro  depositors! 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         81 

Every  nigger  buck  in  Tickf all  is  lined  up  in  front 
of  the  bank,  and  the  leader  is  knocking  on  the 
door,  trying  to  get  in!" 

Gaitskill  jerked  open  a  drawer,  slipped  a  heavy 
revolver  in  his  side  coat  pocket,  and  stepped  to 
ward  the  front. 

Figger  Bush's  shoe-brush  mustache  was  pressed 
close  to  the  glass,  his  hands  were  cupped  around 
his  eyes,  and  he  was  peering  in  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  Marse  Tom  as  he  came  out  of  his  office. 

"Here  he  am,  niggers!"  he  bawled  as  the  colonel 
fumbled  with  the  fastening  of  the  door. 

"Howdy,  Marse  Tom!"  the  greeting  ran  down 
the  line  with  every  variation  of  tone  like  a  child 
playing  a  scale  on  the  piano  with  one  finger. 

"Well?"  Gaitskill  demanded  in  a  loud  tone. 
"What  in  the  name  of  mud  is  the  matter  now?" 

"Us  is  all  come  to  git  in  on  de  picnic,  Marse 
Tom,"  Figger  Bush  announced  as  spokesman. 
"We  all  paid  our  dollar  an'  Pap  tipped  us  off  to 
come  to  de  bank  at  closin'  time!" 

"Pap  did  what?"  Gaitskill  snapped. 

"He  sold  us  a  ticket  to  de  excussion,MarseTom," 
Figger  informed  him.  "Yes,  suh,  we  is  powerful 
glad  you  is  gittin'  one  up — peanuts  an'  ice-water, 
an'  plenty  brass-band  music — all  us  niggers  favors 
it  fine!" 

"What  in  the  devil  are  you  talking  about?" 
Gaitskill  bawled. 

"Dunno,  Marse  Tom,"  Prince  Total  spoke  up. 
"Pap  Curtain — he  say  you  would  tell  us — it's  a 
plum'  secret." 

6 


82         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

"It  certainly  is!"  Gaitskill  howled,  glaring  at 
the  negroes  with  eyes  blood-shot  and  apoplectic. 
"It's  a  deep,  dark,  impenetrable  secret!  Where  is 
that  fool,  Pap  Curtain?" 

"He  went  away  on  de  dinner-time  train,  Marse 
Tom, ' '  a  voice  informed  him.  '  *  I  seed  him ! ' ' 

Gaitskill  stood  in  the  door  of  the  bank  in  abso 
lute  ignorance  of  the  whole  business,  wondering 
what  to  do.  Finally  he  went  back  to  Figger 
Bush's  first  statement : 

"What  did  you  say  about  a  dollar?"  he  de 
manded. 

"Us  paid  a  dollar  fer  de  tip,  Marse  Tom," 
Figger  replied. 

Gaitskill's  eyes  ran  clown  the  line  as  he  counted 
the  negroes. 

' '  Did  all  you  darkies  give  Pap  Curtain  a  dollar  ? " 
he  asked  in  a  loud  voice. 

"Yes,  suh!"  one  hundred  and  eighteen  voices 
answered  in  a  mighty  chorus. 

"Good  Lord!"  Gaitskill  snorted,  as  he  gazed 
into  their  simple  faces,  marveling  at  their  credulity. 

Every  merchant  in  town  had  closed  his  store  to 
see  the  fun.  Nearly  every  white  male  inhabitant 
of  Tickfall  was  lined  up  across  the  street.  The 
crowd  grinned  its  delight,  and  watched  with 
breathless  interest  while  Gaitskill  fumbled  with 
his  problem  in  confusion  and  perplexity,  and  an 
ignorance  which  the  negroes  would  not  enlighten. 

Nothing  tickles  a  Southern  white  man  more 
than  to  see  another  white  man  all  snarled  up  and 
in  a  jam  of  negro  inanities.  A  fly  in  a  barrel  of 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         83 

molasses  has  about  as  good  a  chance  of  getting 
out  of  the  mess. 

"What  did  Pap  Curtain  tell  you  bucks?"  Gaits- 
kill  bellowed. 

There  was  a  mighty  clash  of  voices : 

"He  specify  excussion " 

"Dancin'  on  de  deck  eve'y  night " 

"Music  an'  free  vittles " 

"Festerbul  an'  juberlo " 

"Picnic " 

Then  a  loud  voice  inquired  in  a  wailing  whine : 

"Marse  Tom,  ef  us  don't  git  all  dem  things  Pap 
promised  us,  does  us  git  our  dollars  back?" 

Gaitskill  did  not  reply.  Instead  he  took  out 
his  watch  and  studied  it  carefully. 

He  was  thinking :  the  old  combination  freight  and 
passenger  train  had  left  Tickfall  at  noon;  it  had 
traveled  for  three  hours  and  twenty  minutes  at  a 
speed  of  fifteen  miles  an  hour.  The  train  was  not 
yet  out  of  Tickfall  parish.  Then  Gaitskill  spoke : 

"All  you  niggers  listen  to  me:  Go  down  to 
the  old  cotton-shed  back  of  my  house  and  wait 
until  I  come.  Hurry,  now!" 

He  turned,  entered  the  bank,  locked  the  door 
behind  him,  and  strode  to  the  telephone. 

1 '  Hello,  Susie ! "  he  said  to  the  operator.  ' '  Gim 
me  the  station-agent  at  Tonieville — quick!" 

There  was  a  nervous  quiver  in  his  strong  voice, 
and  as  he  waited  he  drummed  with  his  fingers  on 
the  table,  tapped  the  toe  of  one  foot  on  the  floor, 
then  snatched  up  a  paper-weight  and  began  to 
grind  it  savagely  into  the  blotter  on  a  desk. 


84         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

• 

The  coons  had  exasperated  him  often  enough, 
he  thought;  but  Pap  Curtain  had  gone  the  limit. 
He  would  catch  that  nigger  and  wring  his  fool 
neck. 

"Hey — hello!*'  he  bawled  through  the  speaking- 
tube.  "Is  that  you,  Bill?  This  is  Gaitskill— 
Say,  has  No.  2  passed  through  Tonieville  yet? 
Coming  now?  All  right,  listen:  tell  the  constable 
to  board  the  Jim-Crow  coach  on  that  train  and 
haul  off  a  nigger — a  yellow  nigger  with  a  baboon 
face  and  shifty  eyes  and  a  mouth  which  sneers. 
Yes !  his  name  is  Pap  Curtain.  He's  got  a  pocket 
ful  of  money.  Sure!  Haul  him  off.  Tell  the 
constable  to  bring  him  back  on  No.  I !  Good-bye ! ' ' 

Gaitskill  hung  up  the  receiver,  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  face,  and  walked  out  of  the  bank,  pausing 
at  the  door  long  enough  to  inform  the  clerk: 

"I'm  going  down  to  the  cotton-shed,  Frank. 
Got  to  hold  an  executive  session  with  those  coons!" 

Pap  Curtain  had  the  negro-coach  all  to  himself. 
He  leaned  back  and  sighed  with  a  vast  content. 

"Dem  coons  tried  to  knife  me,  but  I  beat  'em 
to  it!"  he  snickered,  as  the  train  puffed  slowly 
along.  "One  hundred  an'  eighteen  dollars  is 
shore  good  wages  fer  a  day's  wuck." 

He  planned  his  expenditure  of  the  money: 
first  a  visit  to  New  Orleans,  and  a  happy  time  in 
the  negro  resorts  of  that  city.  After  that  a  job 
on  a  steamboat  which  traveled  down  the  river. 
After  a  long  time,  a  return  to  Tickfall  and  a  renewal 
of  friendships  with  his  negro  neighbors. 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         85 

"Niggers  don't  hold  spite  long,"  he  grinned. 
"An'  money  don't  bother  'em  hardly  at  all, 
whedder  he  makes  it  or  loses  it!" 

The  train  stopped  at  Tonieville  and  Pap  stuck 
his  head  far  out  of  the  window  to  see  who  he 
would  know  at  the  station. 

He  felt  a  sharp  tap  on  his  shoulder,  pulled  his 
head  in,  and  looked  behind  him. 

A  tall  white  man  with  tobacco-stained  whiskers 
and  a  deputy-sheriffs  badge  pinned  to  a  strap  of 
his  suspenders  spoke : 

"Climb  off  peaceable,  Pap  Curtain!  Colonel 
Tom  Gaitskill  wants  you  back  at  Tickfall  on  the 
next  train!" 

"Naw,  suh,  white  folks,"  Pap  protested  ear 
nestly,  his  intense  fright  making  him  stammer. 
"Marse  Tom  done  run  me  outen  Tickfall  dis  very 
mawnin'.  He  tole  me  ef  I  didn't  leave  town  he 
would  bust  my  haid  open.  You  done  cotch  de 
wrong  coon!" 

"Git  off!"  the  deputy  commanded  shortly, 
waving  his  stick  toward  the  door. 

The  train  went  on  and  left  Pap  Curtain  at  the 
station  in  the  care  of  the  constable. 

"You  is  shore  made  a  miscue  dis  time,  Mr. 
Sheriff,"  Pap  declared.  "Marse  Tom  is  always 
b'lieved  in  me  an'  trusted  me — Gawd  bless  his 
heart !  You  cain't  make  Marse  Tom  hear  nothin' 
bad  'bout  me — naw,  suh,  you  couldn't  bawl  it 
inter  his  year  wid  one  of  dese  here  Gabriel  trumpets. 
I's  a  good  nigger — a  powerful  good  nigger!" 

The  grinning  constable  reached  out  with  the 


86         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

end  of  his  stick  and  struck  it  sharply  against  one 
of  Pap's  bulging  pockets.  There  was  a  pleasant 
clink  of  much  silver  in  response. 

"Colonel  Gaitskill  telephoned  that  your  pockets 
were  full  of  money, ' '  the  constable  told  him.  "I'll 
let  you  pack  it  until  we  git  back  to  Tickfall — then 
you  can  tell  your  Marse  Tom  where  you  happened 
to  get  it  all." 

Pap  Curtain's  legs  suddenly  grew  weak,  and  he 
sank  down  upon  a  depot  truck  and  became  silent. 

He  set  himself  to  light  a  Perique  stogy — one  of 
the  two  which  he  had  bought  from  Skeeter  Butts 
for  five  cents — bought  with  Figger  Bush's  money. 
He  broke  three  or  four  matches  before  he  got  a 
light,  and  then  repeatedly  forgot  to  draw  upon  his 
cigar. 

It  went  out  again  and  again,  and  he  always  had 
trouble  in  relighting  it.  His  hands  trembled  more 
and  more  with  each  successive  attempt. 

"Lawd!"  he  sighed  to  himself.  "Dey  shore 
got  me  now!" 

The  niggers  had  trusted  him,  and  he  had  bun 
coed  them  all.  The  place  where  his  foot  had 
slipped  was  when  he  told  them  to  go  the  bank  to 
see  Marse  Tom. 

"White  folks  always  gits  nigger  bizzness  in  a 
jam,"  he  thought  tearfully.  "Dem  niggers  wus 
suckers,  but  lawdymussy,  I  wus  shore  one  big 
whopper  of  a  fool!" 

The  sweat  stood  in  chill  beads  on  his  face.  He 
knew  what  the  inside  of  the  penitentiary  looked 
like — he  had  served  a  brief  term  in  prison.  He 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

'Colonel  Gaitskill  telephoned  me  that  your  pockets 
were  full  of  money.  " 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor          87 

had  tried  to  make  friends  with  the  "nigger-dogs" 
—bloodhounds — but  it  could  not  be  done.  He  had 
tried  to  escape;  that,  also,  was  a  failure. 

"Lawd!"  he  mourned.  "Dey  got  me  dis 
time!" 

The  north-bound  express  whistled  for  the 
station.  The  agent  ran  out,  flagged  it,  and  the 
deputy  helped  Pap  climb  on.  Pap  had  suddenly 
become  an  old  and  feeble  man,  broken,  hopeless, 
forsaken,  shamed,  dreading  above  everything  his 
return  trip  to  Tickfall. 

The  deputy  led  him  to  a  seat  in  the  smoking  car 
and  offered  him  a  cigar.  Pap  gazed  at  him  as  if  he 
did  not  understand,  then  took  the  cigar  and  looked 
at  it  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  it  was.  All  the 
light  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes,  and  his  face  looked 
like  a  scarred  and  wrinkled  shell. 

Detraining  at  Tickfall,  the  deputy  waited  for 
Pap  to  get  ahead  of  him.  Pap,  noticing  his 
gesture,  muttered  in  a  far-away  voice,  as  in  a 
dream : 

"Comin',  white  folks!    I's  right  at  yo'  hip!" 

When  Gaitskill,  in  response  to  a  knock,  opened 
the  door  of  the  Tickfall  National  Bank  to  admit 
them,  he  greeted  the  deputy  in  his  strong,  cordial 
voice,  conducted  the  two  back  to  his  private 
office,  and  seated  the  sheriff  and  his  prisoner  in 
two  comfortable  chairs. 

"You  brought  him  safe  back,  Sheriff, "  Gaitskill 
smiled  cordially,  as  he  seated  himself.  "Take 
a  cigar.  Take  two — here!  Hold  your  pocket 
open!" 


88         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

He  grabbed  a  handful  of  the  cigars,  slipped 
them  carefully  into  the  deputy's  pocket,  and  sat 
down  again. 

Pap  Curtain  watched  them  like  a  trapped  wolf, 
breathing  in  deep,  audible  gasps  like  a  man  chok 
ing. 

Gaitskill's  face  was  genial  and  humorous,  his 
fine  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  beamed  upon  Pap 
Curtain  with  a  smile  as  cordial  as  sunshine. 

That  smile  sent  the  cold  shivers  up  Pap's  spine, 
and  made  the  hair  bristle  and  crinkle  with  terror 
on  the  back  of  his  neck.  He  had  had  dealings 
with  Marse  Tom  before,  and  he  knew  that  Marse 
Tom  had  no  patience  with  a  crooked,  tricky  nigger. 

"My  Gawd!"  Pap  sighed.  "Dat  white  man  is 
gwine  hang  me  shore!" 

Gaitskill  pulled  out  a  heavy  purse,  laid  two 
yellow-backed  bills  on  the  table  in  front  of  the 
constable,  and  said: 

"There's  your  pay,  Bob.  Much  obliged  for 
bringing  my  nigger  back.  I  guess  you  want  to 
run  around  town  a  little  before  you  go  back." 

Bob  grinned  his  appreciation,  pocketed  his 
money,  and  strode  out. 

Gaitskill  looked  at  Pap  Curtain  and  broke  out 
in  a  loud  laugh. 

Great  tears  rolled  down  Pap  Curtain's  face 
and  splashed  upon  the  hands  folded  in  his  lap,  but 
Gaitskill  took  no  notice. 

"Now,  Pap,"  Gaitskill  grinned,  "that  was  a 
great  stunt  you  pulled  off  on  me.  What  do  you 
think  I  ought  to  do  to  you  for  it  ? " 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         89 

"Dunno,  boss,"  the  negro  quavered,  leaning 
over  and  resting  his  teary  face  upon  his  hands. 

"How  many  of  those  niggers  did  you  get?" 

"I  didn't  git  any,  Marse  Tom,"  Pap  declared, 
hoping  to  build  up  some  sort  of  defense.  ' '  It  wus 
dat  fool  Figger  Bush  an'  Prince  Total  whut 
succulated  de  repote!" 

There  was  a  wild  yell  up  the  street  and  a  rumble 
of  wagon  wheels. 

Gaitskill  sprang  up  and  walked  to  the  front 
of  the  bank,  where  he  could  look  through  the 
window. 

Pap  Curtain,  trembling,  horrified,  followed  Gaits- 
kill  because  he  was  afraid  to  remain  alone. 

Ten  wagons  passed  the  bank,  the  teams  going 
in  a  fast  trot,  each  wagon  containing  ten  or  twelve 
squalling  blacks,  who  waved  their  hands  at  the 
bank  as  far  as  they  could  see  it. 

Pap  Curtain  ducked  behind  the  door  and  kept 
himself  invisible — for  each  wagon  contained  a 
load  of  his  victims ! 

"That's  your  work,  Pap!"  Gaitskill  grinned, 
when  the  wagons  had  passed. 

"Yes,  suh, "  Pap  answered  in  a  weak,  tearful, 
hopeless  voice. 

"  If  I  had  known  about  it  when  I  telephoned  the 
constable,  I  would  not  have  had  him  bring  you 
back,  Pap.  I  thought  you  had  robbed  all  those 
niggers  of  a  dollar  each." 

"Yes,  suh, "  Pap  sighed,  praying  for  more  light. 

Gaitskill  took  a  ten-dollar  bill  out  of  his  pocket, 
felt  its  texture  with  a  banker's  expert  fingers, 


90         The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor 

then  said  in  a  voice  which  dripped  with  the  sweet 
ness  of  appreciation  and  praise: 

"That  trick  was  the  real  stuff,  Pap!  How  did 
you  ever  think  it  up?" 

Every  pore  of  Pap's  body  was  spouting  cold 
sweat.  His  eyes  burned,  his  throat  choked,  his 
brain  reeled,  his  limbs  trembled — he  was  racked, 
tortured  with  fear  and  anxiety — and  yet  this  white 
man  seemed  to  be  talking  kind  words. 

"Oh,  Lawd, "  he  prayed,  "let  a  leetle  sunshine 
in!" 

"It  certainly  takes  a  coon  to  catch  a  coon!" 
Gaitskill  laughed.  "The  idea  of  making  a  negro 
pay  a  dollar  for  the  privilege  of  working  on  a 
cotton  plantation  when  the  white  folks  are  beg 
ging  for  hands — think  of  it,  Pap! 

"One  hundred  and  eighteen  niggers  gone  off  on 
a  cotton-picking  picnic  to  the  Niggerheel  planta 
tion,  paying  a  dollar  each  for  the  privilege  of 
gathering  a  thousand  bales  of  cotton,  and  swearing 
that  they  will  stick  to  the  job  because  they  paid 
to  get  it!  Say,  nigger,  you  are  the  greatest  coon 
inTickfall!"  ' 

Pap  Curtain  straightened  up;  his  shoulders 
came  back  with  a  snap ;  he  drew  a  breath  so  deep 
that  it  seemed  to  suck  in  all  the  air  in  the  bank. 

"I'm  certainly  much  obliged  to  you,  Pap," 
Gaitskill  said  earnestly.  "I  take  back  what  I 
said  this  morning.  You're  a  good  nigger.  Here's 
ten  dollars  for  your  trouble." 

Gaitskill  opened  the  door. 

Pap  Curtain  stepped  out,  holding  the  crinkling 


The  Art  of  Enticing  Labor         91 

bill  in  his  hand.  He  reeled  down  the  street  like  a 
drunken  man,  staggered  across  the  village  to 
Dirty-Six,  and  sat  down  on  the  rickety  porch  of 
his  cabin. 

The  Gulf  breeze  swept  across  his  sweat-drenched 
face,  cooling  it  like  a  breath  from  the  land  where 
angels  dwell. 

Slowly  his  shattered  nerves  were  composed; 
slowly  his  trembling  limbs  were  stilled;  slowly  his 
twitching  muscles  quieted.  He  felt  tired.  He 
breathed  deeply,  like  a  man  who  had  emerged 
from  the  depths  of  great  water. 

Then  he  filled  his  mouth  with  chewing  tobacco 
and  grinned. 

"Lawd!"  he  chuckled.  'Ts  powerful  glad  it 
come  out  de  way  it  done." 

His  mind  quickly  reviewed  each  incident  of  this 
exciting  day,  and  as  he  watched  the  sun  sink  below 
the  horizon,  he  announced  his  conclusion: 

"When  Marse  Tom  tole  me  to  leave  dis  town,  he 
jes'  nachelly  overspoke  hisse'f !" 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen. 

UNTHINKING  people  assert  that  negroes  do  not 
think. 

Nevertheless,  when  Skeeter  Butts,  by  methods 
peculiarly  his  own,  became  the  high-proud  owner 
of  a  good,  cheap  automobile,  he  permitted  only 
three  friends  to  ride  with  him, — Vinegar  Atts, 
Hitch  Diamond,  and  Figger  Bush. 

Figger  was  necessary  because  his  superb  voice 
added  to  the  others,  completed  the  most  melodious 
male  quartette  in  Louisiana.  Hitch  Diamond 
as  a  prize-fighter,  Vinegar  Atts  as  an  ex-pugilist 
who  had  been  called  to  preach,  each  possessed 
the  physical  strength  of  a  forty-horse-power  mule. 
Skeeter  needed  them  to  lift  his  automobile  out  of 
the  mud  and  to  push  it  through  the  sand. 

Was  not  that  a  thoughtful  selection  of  first- 
aids  to  the  helpless? 

Truly,  that  outfit  was  a  fearful  and  wonderful 
thing. 

When  those  four  negroes  climbed  into  that 
car  and  began  to  sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
mechanism  which  sounded  like  a  saw-mill,  a 
cotton-gin,  and  a  boiler  factory  loaded  upon  a  log- 
train  chasing  a  herd  of  bleating  billy-goats  along 

92 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen        93 

the  public  highway,  the  effect  produced  made 
the  pious  cross  themselves,  the  ungodly  "cuss," 
and  the  little  children  run  to  their  mothers, 
whimpering  with  fright. 

A  white  man  might  think  a  thousand  years 
and  never  think  up  an  arrangement  like  that. 

Then  to  show  that  his  mental  incubator  was 
still  capable  of  hatching  out  little  fuzzy,  two-legged 
chicken-headed  thoughts,  Skeeter  bought  a  steam 
boat! 

"Whar  is  Hitch  Diamond  at,  Kunnel?"  Skeeter 
asked  of  a  handsome,  white-haired  gentleman 
standing  in  front  of  the  Tickfall  post-office. 

"He's  up  at  my  house,  unloading  fireworks 
from  a  dray,"  Colonel  Gaitskill  answered. 

"Hitch  don't  go  back  to  wuck  to-day,  do  he?" 
Skeeter  inquired  in  a  shocked  tone. 

"Certainly  not,"  Gaitskill  smiled.  "This  is  a 
national  holiday.  I  imagine  Hitch  has  finished 
that  little  job  now.  Are  you  folks  going  off  to 
make  a  day  of  it?" 

"Yes,  suh,  us  is  fixin'  to  cel'brate,  too!"  Skeeter 
chuckled. 

"Do  you  know  why  we  celebrate  the  Fourth  of 
July,  Skeeter?"  Gaitskill  asked  with  a  smile. 

Skeeter  knew.  He  also  knew  that  "Fighting 
Tom"  Gaitskill  stood  before  him,  and  this  old 
soldier  had  not  fought  with  the  heroes  of  '76.  He 
tempered  his  answer  to  a  hero  of  the  Lost  Cause. 

"Shore,  Marse  Tom!"  he  chuckled.  "Dis  is 
de  day  dat  our  white  marsters  kilt  all  de  dam- 
yanks!" 


94       The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Gaitskill  laughed. 

"Your  answer  is  a  credit  to  your  tact  and 
diplomacy,  Skeeter,  but  it  certainly  upsets  the 
records  of  history.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"We's  gwine  down  to  de  river." 

"I  want  you  and  Hitch  Diamond  to  help  me 
with  the  fire- works  to-night,"  Gaitskill  said. 
"You  get  back  by  dark." 

"Shore,  Marse  Tom!"  Skeeter  cackled.  "We 
ain't  gwine  miss  no  free  show.  I'll  go  git  Hitch 
an'  de  rest  of  de  bunch  now!" 

The  seven-mile  road  to  the  Mississippi  River  was 
smooth  and  level  and  was  a  favorite  with  Vinegar 
and  Hitch,  who  preferred  riding  to  climbing  out 
to  lift  or  push.  So,  one  hour  later,  the  auto 
mobile  quartette  stood  beside  a  stump  on  the 
banks  of  that  majestic  stream  and  sang  of  the  time 
"when  de  water's  so  low,  de  bullfrog  roll  up  his 
pants  jes'  so,  and  wade  acrost  from  sho'  to  sho'; 
while  over  in  de  channel  de  catfish  say:  'We's 
gittin'  plum'  freckle-faced  down  our  way." 

Six  miles  up  the  river  at  the  bend,  a  little  steam 
boat  whistle  squalled  at  them  through  the  still 
July  atmosphere.  The  quartette  promptly  sat 
down  and  watched  the  boat's  approach. 

The  boat  was  about  thirty  feet  long  and  about 
eighteen  feet  wide,  was  built  with  a  flat  keel  which 
made  it  float  on  the  top  of  the  water  like  a  cigar 
box,  and  was  propelled  by  a  paddle  wheel  in  the 
rear  about  as  big  as  a  barrel. 

Some  river  fishermen  own  such  boats,  living  in 
them,  and  peddling  their  fish  to  the  negroes  on 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen        95 

the  plantations  along  the  river.  The  vessel  could 
ride  the  current  down-stream  and  make  six  miles 
an  hour;  going  up-stream,  it  hugged  the  bank, 
navigated  the  slack  water,  and  got  there  as  soon 
as  it  could.  Three  miles  an  hour  up-stream  was 
going  some. 

As  the  boat  drew  near,  the  quartette  noticed 
that  the  machinery  was  protected  by  a  rudely- 
built  roof,  and  the  crew  consisted  of  one  man  who 
sat  on  a  three-legged  stool,  smoked  a  pipe,  shoveled 
coal,  steered,  and  pulled  the  whistle-cord,  and 
still  had  plenty  of  time  to  watch  the  scenery. 

"Dat's  de  life  fer  me, "  Skeeter  Butts  exclaimed. 
"Up  'n'  down  de  river,  fishin'  an'  swimmin'  an' 
sleepin'.  Ef  I  owned  a  steamboat  like  dat,  I'd 
go  right  back  to  Tickfall  an*  ax  all  my  friends 
good-bye." 

"Me,  too!"  Vinegar  Atts  rumbled.  "Ef  I 
had  a  boat,  I'd  trabbel  dis  river  givin'  religium 
advices  to  all  de  niggers  on  de  river  plantations. 
I'd  preach  eve'y  night  an'  I  wouldn't  fergit  to  ax 
some  hones'  brudder  to  pass  de  hat." 

"Steamboats  is  got  some  good  p'ints  over  auter- 
mobiles, "  Hitch  Diamond  growled.  "You  don't 
got  to  lift  'em  outen  de  mud  or  push  'em  up-hill 
through  de  sand." 

"Ef  I  had  a  boat, "  Figger  Bush  cackled,  pulling 
at  his  little  shoe-brush  mustache,  "I'd  buy  me  a 
derby  hat  an'  a  grassaphome,  an'  a  long-tail 
prancin' -albert  coat,  an' — an' — I'd  climb  up  on 
top  of  it  an'  sing  all  de  songs  I  knows." 

The  whistle  squalled  again. 


96        The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

1 '  She's  fixin'  to  make  a  landin'!"  Skeeter 
exclaimed. 

The  boat  passed  them  on  the  current,  then 
turned  and  puffed  along  the  bank  through  the 
still  water  opposite  to  where  they  were  sitting. 
A  black,  chunky,  bull-necked  negro,  the  whites 
of  whose  eyes  shone  across  the  water  like  china 
door-knobs,  hurled  a  rope  toward  them. 

"  Gimme  a  turn  aroun'  dat  stump !"  he  bel 
lowed,  as  he  stopped  the  machinery. 

While  the  quartet  tied  the  boat  the  owner 
stepped  into  a  little  canoe  and  paddled  ashore. 

"  Howdy,  brudders!"  he  bellowed,  as  he  sat 
down  with  them.  "My  name  is  Pipe  Smash." 

' '  Us  is  got  names,  too, "  Skeeter  Butts  proclaimed, 
as  he  introduced  himself  and  his  friends.  ' '  We  been 
watchin'  you'  boat  an'  wishin'  dat  we  had  one." 

Smash  hesitated  just  a  second  before  answering. 
An  eager  look  flashed  in  his  eyes  and  vanished. 
Then  he  said: 

"'Tain't  such  a  awful  rotten  dawg's  life  fer  a 
nigger — livin'  on  you'  own  boat.  I's  jes'  mournin' 
in  my  mind  because  I's  got  to  quit  it." 

"How  come?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"I's  gittin'  married  real  soon  an*  de  gal  specify 
dat  she  don't  want  no  home  whut  floats  aroun' 
permiscus  so  dat  de  chickens  don't  know  whar  to 
come  to  roost.  She  wants  me  to  sell  out  an' 
sottle  down  on  dry  land." 

"Dat's  a  powerful  sensible  notion,"  Skeeter 
Butts  proclaimed,  as  his  appraising  eyes  searched 
the  steamboat.  "Is  you  foun'  a  buyer  yit?" 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen        97 

' '  Naw ! "  Pipe  Smash  said  disgustedly.  ' '  White 
folks  won't  buy  no  nigger's  boat,  an'  niggers  ain't 
got  no  money." 

"How  financial  do  a  nigger  got  to  be  to  pick  up  a 
good,  cheap,  han'-me-down  boat  ? ' '  Skeeter  asked 
cautiously. 

"Well,  suh,  I  figger  it  out  dis  way, "  Pipe  Smash 
said,  boring  the  middle  finger  of  his  right  hand  into 
the  palm  of  his  left  hand  for  emphasis.  '  *  I  bought 
dat  whole  boat  jes'  as  she  floats  from  a  white  man 
whut  picked  a  fuss  wid  de  cote-house  an'  had  to 
run  in  a  direction  whar  de  river  didn't  go.  It 
costed  me  two  hundred  dollars  ten  year  ago,  an'  is 
some  wore  out.  One  hundred  dollars  in  cash 
spondulix  gits  her  now." 

Skeeter  glanced  at  the  faces  of  his  three  friends 
and  each  responded  with  a  slight  nod.  Skeeter 
made  a  careful  advance. 

"Ef  I  jes'  knowed  somepin  'bout  how  to  run  a 
steamboat — "  he  began. 

"Don't  none  of  you  niggers  know  nothin'  'bout 
steam-engines?"  Pipe  asked,  in  a  peculiar  voice. 

"Naw!"  they  said  in  a  chorus. 

A  peculiar  expression  passed  over  Pipe's  face. 

Skeeter 's  quick  eyes  caught  the  look,  and  he 
rightly  concluded  that  Pipe  was  going  to  take 
advantage  of  their  ignorance  to  cheat  them. 

"'Tain't  no  trouble  to  learn  how  to  run  'em," 
Pipe  remarked.  "All  you  got  to  do  is  to  keep  fire 
in  de  furnace  an'  water  in  de  b'iler,  an'  hoi'  to  de 
steeriri'- wheel  an'  stay  in  de  river." 

"Dat  sounds  easy,"  Skeeter  said,  as  he  rose  to 


98        The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

his  feet.  "Less  paddle  out  an'  take  a  look  at  dat 
boat." 

When  they  were  all  aboard  and  the  engine 
was  puffing  laboriously  up  the  river,  Pipe  Smash 
looked  at  the  four  grinning  negroes  with  an  air  of 
triumph. 

He  knew  his  steamboat  was  sold. 

They  were  traveling  about  as  fast  as  a  lame 
man  could  walk,  but  there  was  an  exhilarating 
throb  to  the  engine,  and  a  cheerful  slap-slap  to  the 
paddle-wheel,  and  the  river  went  past  them  in 
stead  of  taking  them  with  it,  and  by  shutting  their 
eyes  for  five  minutes  and  then  opening  them  they 
could  see  that  they  were  actually  gaining  on  the 
scenery. 

And  the  scenery  would  set  an  artist  wild:  a  sky 
like  a  soap-bubble,  and  high  in  the  dome  a  buzzard 
sailing  like  a  speck  of  dust,  a  river  like  a  broad, 
flowing  ribbon  of  old  gold,  and  close  to  the  levees 
on  each  side  the  woods,  dense,  black,  moss-hung 
and  funereal,  absorbing  so  little  of  the  sun's  light 
that  the  negroes  could  hear  the  call  of  the  night- 
owls  and  the  voice  of  the  whip-poor-will. 

Suddenly  Skeeter's  high  soprano  voice  ran  out 
across  the  water,  the  other  voices  joined,  and  the 
woods  echoed  back  the  music: 

"When  peace  like  a  river,  attendeth  my  way, 

When  sorrers  like  sea-billers  roll — 
Whatever  my  lot,  Thou  hast  taught  me  to  say, 

It  is  well,  it  is  well,  wid  my  soul. " 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen        99 

"Whut  is  de  name  of  dis  boat  called,  Pipe?" 
Skeeter  asked  at  the  end  of  their  song. 

' '  'Tain't  got  no  name, "  Pipe  answered. 

"Dat  won't  do,"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed,  as  he 
looked  with  proprietary  eye  upon  the  vessel. 
"Less  call  her  by  some  high-soundin'  name." 

"Less  call  her  de  Skeeter  Butts?"  the  little 
barkeeper  promptly  suggested. 

"Naw!"  the  three  other  men  whooped. 

Skeeter  giggled. 

' '  I  figger  dar  will  be  three  votes  agin  any  yuther 
nigger's  name  in  dis  bunch,"  he  said.  "Less  call 
her  de  Hen-Scratch. " 

"Naw!"  the  trio  bellowed.  "A  saloom  ain't 
no  fitten  name  fer  a  rSoat." 

"Less  call  her  de  Shoo-fty" 

"Naw!"  the  bunch  howled.  "We  don't  name 
no  boat  after  a  Mefdis  meetin' -house." 

Finally  Skeeter  said: 

"I  motions  dat  we  leave  it  to  Pipe  Smash  to 
name  de  boat  fer  us!" 

' '  Dat 's  right !    Gib  us  a  good  name,  Pipe ! ' ' 

Pipe  scratched  his  woolly  head  and  thought. 
Then  he  said : 

"Is  you  niggers  made  acquaintance  wid  a  coot  ? " 

"Suttinly." 

"Is  you  ever  seed  how  a  coot  starts  to  fly?  He 
leans  fur  back  like  he  was  restin'  on  his  tail  den 
he  takes  a  runnin'  shoot " 

1 '  Shore !    We  knows ! ' '  the  men  interrupted. 

"Dis  boat  gits  its  start  by  shovin'  wid  its  tail, " 
Pipe  resumed.  "Furthermo',  dis  boat,  like  a  coot, 


ioo      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

is  a  Ian'  an'  water  bird.  Accawdin'  to  dat  notion, 
I  votes  dat  we  call  dis  boat  after  de  nigger  word 
fer  a  coot " 

"De  Mud  Hen\"  the  quartet  whooped  tri 
umphantly.  ' '  De  Mud  Hen  \ ' ' 

From  that  moment  our  four  friends  were  con 
sumed  with  desire  to  own  the  boat  which  had 
received  such  a  high-sounding  and  appropriate 
name. 

Skeeter  presided  at  a  lengthy  consultation,  then 
came  forward  to  the  pilot -wheel  and  counted  one 
hundred  dollars  into  Pipe  Smash's  greedy  palm. 

"Each  of  us  chips  in  twenty-five  dollars,  Pipe/* 
Skeeter  explained. 

"Dat's  a  fine  way  to  do,"  Pipe  grinned.  "Is 
you  elected  who  is  de  head  boss  leader  yit? " 

"Naw, "  Skeeter  said.     "We  ain't  got  dat  fur." 

"Ef  you  Vide  up  yo'  jobs  an'  decide  who  is 
gwine  be  who,  I'll  learn  you  how  to  run  de  boat  an' 
esplain  each  man's  job  to  him,"  Pipe  proposed. 
"Atter  dat,  I'll  step  off." 

"I  announces  myse'f  de  captain  of  dis  boat!" 
Skeeter  Butts  yelled.  "Any  objections ? " 

"I's  de  commondore, "  Hitch  Diamond  bel 
lowed. 

"I's  de  skipper,"  Figger  Bush  quacked. 

"My  job  is  cut  out  for  me,"  Vinegar  Atts 
grinned.  "I's  de  fust  high  exalted  chaplain." 

"Whut  do  de  chaplain  do?"  Skeeter  Butts 
wanted  to  know. 

"He  sets  down  an*  sings  religium  toons  ontil 
somebody  dies,"  Vinegar  informed  him.  "Den 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen       101 

he  gibs  de  dead  man  religium  advices,  ties  a  lump 
of  coal  to  his  foots,  an'  draps  him  in  de  ribber." 

"Dat's  a  easy  job!"  Figger  cackled. 

"'Tain't  so,"  Vinegar  growled.  "Plenty  acci- 
dunts  happen  on  boats — de  b'iler  busts,  de  boat 
snags  out  de  bottom  on  a  stump  an'  sinks,  de  boat 
ketches  on  fire  an'  burns  up,  an'  niggers  falls  over 
board  an'  gets  drowndead." 

"Shut  up,  Revun!"  Skeeter  Butts  barked.  "Dat 
kind  of  graveyard  talk  gibs  me  trouble  in  my 
mind." 

"Prepare  to  git  ready  to  die!"  Vinegar  bellowed 
dramatically.  "Dis  river  is  'bout  fawty  miles 
deep!" 

"Whut  you  figger  on  doin'  as  commondore, 
Hitch?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"I  sets  in  de  middle  of  dis  boat  to  balunce  de 
load,"  the  giant  prize-fighter  announced.  "I'll 
watch  you  fiddle  wid  dat  little  steer-wheel,  an' 
between  times,  mebbe  I'll  shovel  a  leetle  coal." 

"Whut  you  gwine  do  as  skipper,  Figger?" 
Butts  inquired  next. 

"I  skips  all  de  hard  jobs,  an'  all  de  easy  wuck 
dat  I  kin,"  Figger  snickered.  "I  don't  mind 
standin'  up  in  front  an'  watchin'  fer  snags  an* 
allergaters.  I's  gwine  hab  a  fence  rail  tied  under 
each  arm  an'  stan'  straddle  of  a  log.  Ef  dis  boat 
sinks,  Figger  figgers  on  floatin'  to  land!" 

"I's  gwine  lay  in  some  fence-rails,  too, "  Vinegar 
Atts  declared.  "I'll  need  a  whole  wood-pile  of 


'em." 


"It'll  take  a  whole  log-raft  to  float  me,"  Hitch 


102      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Diamond  decided.     "I'll  fix  it  togedder  as  soon 
as  I  git  back  to  land." 

"Whut  good  will  a  lot  of  fence-rails  do  you 
niggers  ef  dis  old  engine  busts?"  Pipe  Smash  in 
quired  in  a  tone  of  comment.  ' '  When  a  steamboat 
blows  up  dar  ain't  enough  of  it  left  over  fer  any 
fool  nigger  to  set  on." 

"Dat's  so,"  Skeeter  Butts  replied  uneasily, 
trying  to  grin  with  stiffening  lips.  "Does  dey 
bust  up  pretty  frequent?" 

"Naw,  suh,  dey  never  busts  up  but  once, "  Pipe 
Smash  grinned.  "Once  is  a  plum'  plenty  fer  any 
kind  of  boat." 

"I  mean  does  pretty  many  boats  bust  up?' 
Skeeter  explained. 

"All  of  'em — soon  or  late,"  Smash  chuckled. 

"Mebbe  I  hadn't  oughter  been  so  spry  'bout 
buyin'  dis  boat,"  Skeeter  mourned,  as  he  looked 
down  into  the  muddy  water  and  shuddered. 

"I  wouldn't  say  dat  till  I  learnt  how  to  run  de 
boat,"  Smash  responded.  "Come  here  an'  take 
holt  of  dis  wheel." 

Smash  had  shrewdly  waited  until  the  right  time 
to  give  this  invitation.  They  were  now  riding 
down  the  middle  of  the  river  on  the  current.  The 
boat  was  still  lacking  in  speed,  but  it  moved  as 
smoothly  as  a  high-powered  automobile. 

"Huh,"  Skeeter  chuckled.  "Dis  here  is  a 
snap.  I  feel  like  I  been  runnin'  steamboats  all 
my  life.  Gimme  elbow  room  accawdin'  to  my 
muscle,  niggers,  an'  watch  Cap'n  Skeeter  Butts 
make  de  Mud  Hen  flit!" 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen       103 

Hitch  Diamond,  the  commodore,  reached  for  the 
coal  shovel. 

"Drap  dat  shovel,  Hitch!"  Pipe  Smash  grinned. 
"Coal  costs  a  heap  money  an'  you  don't  want  to 
waste  it  goin'  down-stream.  De  time  to  shovel 
ain't  yit." 

"Dat's  right,"  Hitch  agreed.  "It  'pears  to  me 
like  we  is  all  got  a  snap.  I  shore  feels  comferble." 

"I  got  a  easy  job,  too!"  Vinegar  proclaimed. 
"'Tain't  no  real  trouble  to  set  down  an'  wait  fer 
acorp'." 

"All  you  niggers,  come  here!"  Pipe  Smash 
exclaimed.  "I  wants  to  press  somepin'  powerful 
heavy  on  yo'  minds,  an'  ef  you  fergits  it  often  yo' 
minds,  I  tells  you  right  now  dat  Revun  Atts  won't 
wait  long  to  git  a  fust-rate  corp'." 

"Whut's  dat?"  Skeeter  chattered. 

"You  see  dat  contraption  up  on  dat  engine 
whut  looks  like  a  clock?"  Pipe  Smash  asked. 

"Yes,suh!" 

"Dat  is  called  de  steam-gage.  Dat  shows  how 
much  steam  is  in  de  b'ilers.  Now  dis  engine  won't 
tote  but  sixty  pounds  of  steam  an'  be  plum'  safe — 
you  see  dat  indicator  p'ints  to  sixty  now." 

"Dat's  right!"  Hitch  Diamond  corroborated. 

"Whut  do  us  do  ef  we  git  over  sixty?"  Skeeter 
asked  tremblingly. 

"Ef  you  is  puffin'  up-stream,  you  kin  risk  sixty- 
five,  "  Pipe  Smash  told  him.  "But  atter  you  pass 
dat  number — good-night ! " 

"Dat  ain't  tellin'  me  whut  to  do!"  Skeeter 
snapped. 


104      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Smash  scratched  his  woolly  head,  loosened  his 
soiled  shirt-collar  by  running  his  fingers  around 
his  fat  neck,  and  sighed. 

"I  don't  know  whut  is  did  wid  dem  succum- 
stances, "   Smash  declared.     "I   ain't  never  los 
my  good  sense  an'  got  up  dat  high  yit.     But  I  got  il 
figgered  out  dat  a  real  quick  nigger  could  do  twc 
things:  he  kin  open  de  furnace,  rake  out  de  hot 
coals,  set  de  boat  on  fire  an'  burn  her  up;  or,  he 
kin  jump  in  de  river  an'  let  de  boat  float  on  til  she 
busts!" 

"Hear  dem  words!"  Vinegar  Atts  bawled.     " 
knowed  I  had  a  good  chance  to  orate  over  a  corp' ! 

Skeeter  Butts  looked  greatly  scared  for  a  minul 
then  he  took  a  big  breath  and  rallied. 

"Dat  ain't  so  awful  dangersome, "  he  said.  "I 
bet  you  niggers  seben  dollars  per  each  dat  dat  in 
dicator  don't  never  reach  sixty  no  more — open  dat 
furnace  door,  Hitch,  an'  cool  de  b'iler!" 

The  commodore  lost  no  time  in  obeying  the 
captain. 

"Dat  ain't  de  right  way  to  do!"  Pipe  Smash 
told  them.  "Ef  you  open  de  furnace  door,  de 
b'iler  gits  hotter — dat  makes  de  fire  draw  better!" 

"Shet  dat  furnace  door,  Hitch,  you  fool!" 
Skeeter  barked.  "My  Lawd,  you's  gittin'  us 
ready  to  bust!" 

The  commodore  shut  the  door. 

Then  Pipe  Smash  gave  them  another  jolt : 

"You  all  is  got  one  mo'  little  jigger  to  watch, 
niggers!"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  glass  tube.  "Dat 
little,  round,  glass  bottle  is  de  water-gage.  You 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      105 

wanter  put  water  in  de  b'iler  till  dat  water-gage 
stands  half-full  all  de  time.  Ef  dat  little  bottle 
ever  goes  plum'  dry,  de  buzzards  will  be  pickin'  yo' 
bones  outen  de  top  of  de  cypress  trees  along  dis 
river!" 

"Hear  dat,  now!"  Vinegar  Atts  whooped. 
"Dis  here  chaplain  shore  has  cut  out  a  hard- 
wuckin'  job  fer  hisse'f !" 

"Shut  up,  Revun!"  Skeeter  snapped.  "You 
ack  like  you  wus  proud  dis  boat  wus  gwine  bust." 

"'Tain't  so!"  Vinegar  protested.  "I  done 
invested  my  whole  June  sal'ry  from  de  Shoo-fly 
chu'ch  in  dis  boat!" 

Skeeter 's  eyes  lit  on  Figger  Bush. 

"Figger, "  he  said,  "you  done  nominate  yo'se'f 
de  skipper — you  skip  aroun'  here  an'  sot  yo'  eye 
on  dis  glass  bottle!" 

"She  won't  dry  up  as  long  as  I  rides  in  dis 
boat!"  Figger  said  with  conviction.  "I  wouldn't 
take  my  eye  oflen  dat  bottle  ef  a  allergater  tickled 
me  wid  his  tail!" 

"I  got  a  few  mo'  advices,"  Pipe  Smash  an 
nounced.  "You  wants  to  keep  de  lily-pads, 
snags,  an'  wire-grass  outen  de  paddle-wheel  an'  de 
steerin'-gear.  Ef  you  don't  you'll  git  kotch  in  de 
current  an'  float  plum'  to  de  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

"Hear  dem  words!"1  Vinegar  Atts  whooped. 
"All  you  niggers  better  be  on  de  mourners'  bench 
a  gittin'  religium!" 

"Shut  up,  Vinegar!"  Skeeter  wailed.  "You 
set  behime  dis  boat  an'  watch  dat  paddle-wheel." 

' '  I  shore  will ! ' '  Vinegar  declared.     "  An '  de  fust 


io6      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

time  she  fouls  up  you'll  see  Vinegar  floatin'  to'des 
de  shore  straddle  of  his  own  coat-tail !  Dis  chaplain 
don't  take  no  chances  wid  hisse'f — I  don't  need  no 
visit  to  de  Gulf." 

''I  cain't  remember  nothin'  mo*  to  say,"  Pipe 
Smash  said,  scratching  his  woolly  head.  "Mebbe 
I  oughter  say  dis:  Keep  all  de  bolts  screwed  up 
real  tight." 

"Dat's  my  job!"  Skeeter  declared.  "I  don't 
trust  dese  igernunt  niggers  wid  no  monkey- 
wrench." 

"Dat's  right,  Cap'n!"  Pipe  Smash  applauded. 
"You  keep  dat  monkey-wrench  in  yo'  hand  an' 
'tend  to  dat  job  wid  yo'  eyes  wide  open,  or  you'll 
shore  hab  to  paddle  yo'se'f  ashore  wid  yo'  hands!" 

They  passed  the  spot  on  the  shore  where,  four 
hours  earlier,  the  boat  had  been  tied  to  a  stump. 

Pipe  Smash  glanced  up  at  the  sun. 

"I  'speck  it's  'bout  time  I  wus  steppin'  off  an* 
lettin'  you-alls  hab  yo'  boat,"  he  said.  "I's 
gwine  to  de  railroad  track  an'  ketch  de  log-train 
fer  Kerlerac.  Bar's  a  big  Fo'th  of  July  nigger 
dance  at  Kerlerac  to-night." 

Skeeter  ran  the  boat  past  the  stump,  gave  the 
wheel  a  turn,  the  current  swept  the  rear  of  the  boat 
around,  and  Skeeter  puffed  up  to  the  landing  with 
the  skill  of  an  expert  pilot. 

"Well  did!"  Smash  applauded,  as  he  leaped 
into  the  canoe  and  paddled  to  shore  with  the  line. 
"You  ack  like  you  been  runnin'  steamboats  all 
yo'life!" 

When  the  men  stood  once  more  upon  the  ground 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      107 

they  shook  hands  all  around  and  were  perfectly 
happy. 

"Now,  fellers, "  Skeeter  said,  "I  motions  dat 
we  goes  back  to  Tickfall  in  de  auto,  gits  us  a  lot 
of  grub  an'  fixin's,  an'  come  right  back  to  de  boat 
fer  a  long  ride." 

"Ef  you's  plannin'  to  take  a  long  ride,  fellers, 
mebbe  I  could  do  you  a  las'  kind  favor  by  tighten- 
in'  up  all  de  machinery,"  Pipe  Smash  said.  "I 
got  a  little  time  yit." 

"De  Lawd  bless  you,  my  brudder!"  Vinegar 
Atts  howled.  "Dat  would  shore  be  a  Christyum 
ack." 

"Be  shore  an'  watch  dat  little  bolt  back  behime 
de  steam-gage,  cullud  folks,"  Smash  grinned. 
"De  jumpin'  of  de  steam  loosens  up  dat  bolt  mo' 
dan  any." 

"You  go  on  an'  tight  her  up,  brudder!"  Vinegar 
urged.  "Put  yo'  muscle  to  it  right!" 

' '  Good-bye,  niggers ! ' '  Pipe  Smash  howled.  ' '  You 
won't  see  me  when  you  come  back.  I  hopes  you'll 
like  de  boat  an'  hab  good  luck!" 

As  Pipe  climbed  on  the  boat  the  automobile 
roared  the  departure  of  the  happy  quartet. 

Two  hours  later  the  automobile  party  returned 
to  the  river. 

They  unloaded  four  baskets  of  food  and  four 
large  watermelons.  Figger  Bush  had  advocated 
bringing  a  jug,  but  Skeeter  Butts  had  vetoed  the 
suggestion  on  the  ground  that  it  might  offend  the 
Reverend  Vinegar  Atts,  chaplain.  Skeeter  knew 


io8      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

better  than  that,  but  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  furnish  the  bunch  with  a  gallon  of  liquor 
when  he  did  not  drink  himself. 

"How  we  gwine  git  dis  truck  to  dat  boat?" 
Hitch  Diamond  growled,  looking  across  the  water 
in  surprise. 

"How  did  dat  Pipe  Smash  git  to  land  when  de 
little  canoe  is  tied  up  agin  de  side  of  dat  steam 
boat?"  Figger  Bush  asked. 

"He  come  in  hand  over  hand  on  de  rope," 
Skeeter  Butts  informed  him.  ' '  Pipe  knowed  ef  he 
tied  dat  canoe  to  de  land  some  nigger  would  steal 
it." 

"Dat's  a  fack,"  Hitch  Diamond  bellowed. 
"'Taint  safe  to  leave  nothin'  aroun'  whar  a  po' 
nigger  kin  set  down  an'  trabbel  in  it." 

Skeeter  Butts  laid  hold  upon  the  line  and  passed 
over  to  the  boat  swinging  by  his  hands  as  agile 
as  a  monkey.  Then  he  put  to  shore  in  the  canoe 
and  ferried  his  friends  across.  Afterward,  he 
brought  in  the  food  supplies. 

"We'll  trabbel  up  de  river  fust,  niggers,"  Cap 
tain  Skeeter  Butts  announced,  as  he  and  Hitch 
Diamond  busied  themselves  with  the  fire  in  the 
furnace.  "Soon  as  I  gits  a  little  practice  wid  run- 
nin'  her,  we'll  turn  down  stream  an'  paddle  plum'  to  I 
de  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

As  far  as  they  could  see,  they  were  the  only 
living  creatures  on  the  river.     The  noon  sun  blazed 
in  the  heavens  and  made  the  deck  of  the  boat  like  a  I 
furnace;  the  heat  reflected  from  the  water  was  | 
simply  dreadful.     A  white  man  would  have  fallen 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      109 

with  heat  prostration  in  an  hour,  but  these  children 
of  the  sun  laughed  and  sang  and  shouted,  and 
stood  in  the  blaze  of  light,  grinning,  white-toothed, 
and  perfectly  happy. 

They  ate  watermelon,  gobbled  their  lunches, 
smoked  cheap  cigars,  and  talked  like  a  lot  of 
gobbling  turkeys.  Finally  Vinegar  Atts  walked 
to  the  edge  of  the  boat  and  looked  down  in  the 
muddy  swirl  of  the  Mississippi. 

"Dis  water  looks  heap  deeper  to  me  since  dat 
Pipe  Smash  went  away,  "  he  contemplated.  "An' 
I  bet  it's  powerful  wet,  too!" 

"You  git  a  rockin' -chair  outen  de  bood-war  an' 
set  down,  Revun!"  Captain  Butts  commanded. 
"I  don't  wanter  hear  you  startin'  no  doubts!" 

"Dar  ain't  nothin'  in  de  drawin'-room  but  a 
three-leg  stool,"  Vinegar  mourned.  "'Taint  got 
nothin'  to  rest  my  back  agin." 

"Let  her  go!"  Hitch  Diamond,  the  commodore, 
bellowed  in  a  voice  which  could  be  heard  a  mile. 

Skeeter  Butts  laid  one  hand  upon  the  wheel  and 
with  the  other  slightly  opened  the  throttle. 

The  paddle-wheel  spanked  the  water  for  three 
revolutions,  then  there  was  a  backward  jerk  which 
loosened  every  negro's  teeth. 

Hitch  Diamond  fell  against  the  furnace  door 
on  his  hands  and  knees.  Figger  Bush  went 
crashing  against  the  fragile  side  of  the  vessel, 
Skeeter  Butts  draped  himself  over  the  pilot- 
wheel  with  a  loud  squall,  and  the  stool  on  which 
Vinegar  Atts  sat  turned  over,  upsetting  the  digni 
fied  chaplain  and  landing  him  on  his  back,  where 


no      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

he  lay  bellowing  like  a  cow  and  waving  his  hands 
and  feet  toward  the  blue  sky. 

Two  watermelons  and  four  baskets  of  grub 
rolled  overboard  followed  by  Vinegar's  precious 
stove-pipe  hat,  which  bobbed  up  and  down  on  the 
water  like  a  diminutive  battleship  monitor. 

The  little  boat  was  tugging  at  the.  end  of  her 
rope  like  a  lassoed  mustang. 

"Stop  her!"  Hitch  Diamond,  the  commodore, 
bellowed  in  a  voice  which  could  be  heard  two  miles. 
"We  f ergot  to  untie  de  boat  from  dat  stump!" 

Skeeter  had  already  stopped  the  engine,  and 
the  negroes  lost  no  time  in  releasing  the  line. 

Then  started  a  pow-wow  lasting  an  hour,  about 
whose  business  it  was  to  untie  the  boat.  They 
finally  made  Figger  Bush  the  goat,  on  the  ground 
that  his  office  of  skipper  was  to  skip  around  and 
do  everything  the  others  forgot.  They  abused 
him  dreadfully  for  his  neglect  of  duty,  and  Skeeter 
turned  his  back  to  the  wheel  several  times  while  he 
delivered  a  remark  which  was  calculated  to  reduce 
Skipper  Bush's  self-esteem  to  a  minimum. 

This  was  a  very  risky  proceeding  on  the  part 
of  the  pilot,  especially  when  the  boat  was  hugging 
the  shore  and  navigating  the  slack  water.  Skeeter 
found  it  out  when  the  bottom  of  the  boat  grated 
dully  upon  some  soft  substance  underneath,  and  the 
boat  paddled  feebly,  emitted  a  few  discouraging 
puffs,  and  stopped. 

Then  the  worm  turned,  with  the  venom  of  a 
moccasin  snake. 

"Dar    now!"     Figger    Bush    snarled.     "Look 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble, 

When  the  boat  stopped. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      in 

whut  you  done  went  an'  did!  Run  us  up  on  a 
mud  bank!" 

Skeeter  reversed  the  machinery,  pulled  the 
whistle-cord,  puffed  and  snorted,  sloshed  the 
Mississippi  about  some,  developed  a  thousand 
snort-power  from  his  engine,  but  not  enough  horse 
power  to  back  off. 

In  his  embarrassment  he  sweated  enough  water 
to  raise  the  river  and  float  his  craft  off  the  mud 
bank,  if  the  water  could  have  been  applied  at  the 
right  place. 

The  other  three  negroes  took  a  delight  in  in 
forming  him  in  raucous  tones  what  a  sublimated 
donkey  they  thought  he  was. 

Figger  Bush  developed  an  unusual  flow  of  elo 
quence,  and  finally  ended  a  superb  climax  by  the 
proclamation : 

"All  dem  unkind  words  whut  you  said  I  wus 
for  not  untyin'  de  boat — you  is  dem!" 

Then  Skeeter  had  an  inspiration. 

He  handed  the  end  of  a  rope  to  Hitch  Diamond 
and  Vinegar  Atts,  and  remarked  in  an  unusually 
sweet  tone : 

"You  two  cullud  pussons  please  git  over  on  de 
shore  an*  pull  dis  boat  outen  de  mud!" 

"Naw!"  the  two  men  howled.  "We  ain't 
gwine  mess  up  our  clothes ! ' ' 

"All  right!"  Skeeter  remarked.  "I'll  let  de 
Mud  Hen  set  on  her  nest  till  she  hatches  out  a  rise 
in  de  river  an'  floats  off." 

He  sat  down,  lighted  a  cigarette,  fanned  himself 
with  his  hat,  and  inquired: 


ii2      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

' '  Whar 's  dem  watermellyums  ?     I  feels  hongry ! ' ' 

' '  Lawdymussy ! ' '  Vinegar  Atts  howled.  *  *  Whar 
is  dem  dinner-baskits  an'  my  stove-pipe  preachin' 
hat?" 

Skeeter  arose  to  his  feet  with  a  nonchalant  air, 
shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  looked  far  down 
the  river.  A  black  hat  bobbed  merrily  upon  the 
waves,  followed  by  four  baskets  and  two  water 
melons. 

A  loud  wail  arose  from  the  stranded  boat,  the 
loudest  wail  emitted  from  the  throat  of  Vinegar 
at  the  loss  of  his  precious  hat. 

"O  Lawd!"  he  mourned.  "Dat's  de  best 
money-collectin'  hat  I  ever  did  own.  A  nigger 
would  look  down  in  dat  black,  silk  hat  an'  drap  in 
a  dollar  jes'  to  hear  it  blop!" 

"'Twon't  be  no  trouble  to  git  it  back  agin  ef 
you  pull  us  outen  de  mud,"  Skeeter  suggested 
artfully.  "We'll  go  on  up  to  de  bend,  den  turn 
aroun'  an'  chase  our  dinner-baskits  an'  yo' 
hat!" 

"Dat's  de  way  to  do!"  the  commodore  and 
chaplain  readily  agreed,  as  they  climbed  into  the 
canoe.  "We'll  shore  pull  her  off ! " 

One  half  hour  of  herculean  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  two  men  with  the  tow-line,  accompanied  by 
the  steady  coughing  of  the  one-lunged  steamboat, 
and  the  wailing  admonitions  of  Skeeter  and  Figger, 
and  then  the  boat  floated  free.  Hitch  and  Vinegar 
climbed  back  on  deck,  fell  exhausted,  and  lay  flat 
on  their  backs  looking  at  the  blazing  sky  above 
them. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      113 

For  two  hours  more,  they  paddled  up  the  river 
without  mishap.  Skeeter  Butts  began  to  grin. 

'Ts  ketchin'  on,  fellers!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
feels  as  scrupshus  as  a  blue- jay  wid  a  fresh  worm ! " 

It  would  have  been  better  for  Skeeter,  had  he 
watched  what  was  going  on  in  the  river.  Just  as 
he  reached  the  bend,  six  miles  above  the  Tickfall 
landing,  there  broke  upon  the  still  air,  two  loud, 
soul-thrilling  whistles,  one  before  them  up  the 
river,  the  other  behind  them. 

If  our  friends  had  been  experienced  boatmen, 
they  would  have  landed  when  they  heard  those 
two  signals,  tied  their  boat,  crawled  over  on  the 
far  side  of  the  levee,  and  engaged  in  earnest  prayer 
for  the  safety  of  their  craft. 

Both  boats  had  whistled  for  the  bend. 

One  was  the  Federal,  a  government  tug,  which 
was  forbidden  to  pass  the  city  of  New  Orleans  at 
a  speed  exceeding  twenty  miles  an  hour  on  account 
of  the  damage  done  to  the  shipping  and  the  levees ; 
the  tug-boat  was  now  splitting  the  Mississippi 
River  wide  open  at  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  the 
swell  of  the  rollers  in  its  wake  lashed  the  levees 
like  the  breaking  of  sea-billows  on  a  rock-bound 
coast. 

The  other  boat  was  the  big  river  steamer 
Nackitosh,  whose  wash  was  known  and  cursed 
by  river  fishermen  and  rafters  from  St.  Louis  to 
the  Gulf. 

The  two  boats  passed  each  other  in  the  bend, 
and  then  the  Mud  Hen  found  herself  in  the  middle 
of  the  river,  which  rocked  like  a  storm  at  sea. 

8 


ii4      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Skeeter  Butts  clung  desperately  to  the  pilot- 
wheel,  slapping  around  it  like  a  dish-rag  waving 
in  the  wind;  Hitch  and  Vinegar,  who  had  been 
lying  flat  on  their  backs  on  deck,  began  to  roll  and 
scratch  and  claw  at  the  deck  to  keep  from  falling 
overboard  into  the  river;  Figger  Bush  fell  into  the 
coal-pile  near  the  furnace,  scrambled  like  a  cat  in  an 
ash-barrel,  and  kicked  lumps  of  coal  all  over  the 
boat. 

There  is  nothing  which  can  roughhouse  a  little 
boat  as  shamefully  as  two  big  boats;  from  the 
government  tug  there  came  a  fan-shaped  stern- 
wave  four  feet  high,  rode  under  the  Mud  Hen, 
hoisted  her  nearly  end  on  end,  and  let  her  down. 
Then  the  wash  from  the  side-wheel  steamboat 
met  the  tug's  stern-wave,  rode  over  it  like  a  petrel, 
and  came  aboard  the  Mud  Hen  for  a  friendly  call 
on  the  new  owners. 

Four  hundred  barrels  of  nice,  wet  Mississippi 
River  water  sat  down  in  the  laps  of  the  terrified 
Tickf all  quartet  and  embraced  them  lovingly. 

Then  this  colored  quartet  sang  a  scale  of  ninety 
or  one  hundred  assorted  yells  never  before  intro 
duced  in  any  musical  composition.  In  fact,  they 
put  their  souls  in  their  voices  with  such  surpris 
ing  effect  that  it  introduced  them  to  sounds  from 
their  throats  which  they  did  not  know  up  to  that 
time  they  possessed. 

The  Mud  Hen  turned  completely  around  three 
times,  tossed  on  the  current  like  a  match-box,  stood 
on  first  one  end  and  then  the  other,  and  pretty 
nearly  straight  down. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      115 

The  experience  was  not  dangerous,  merely  ex 
citing;  but  the  quartet  did  not  know  that,  and 
when  at  last  the  river  quieted,  and  they  found 
themselves  still  afloat,  they  regarded  it  as  a  miracle 
wrought  by  the  mercy  of  heaven. 

It  was  five  minutes  before  Skeeter  Butts  could 
recover  his  breath  and  crawl  to  the  wheel.  Five 
minutes  more  passed  before  he  was  able  to  speak 
a  word.  Then  in  a  dry  tone — the  only  dry  thing 
about  Skeeter  — he  said : 

' '  I  wus  fixin'  to  turn  aroun'  at  de  bend,  anyhow. 
I  figger  it's  'bout  time  we  wus  git  tin'  back  to  de 
automobile." 

The  hour's  ride  back  to  the  Tickfall  landing 
was  free  from  conversation.  Not  even  Vinegar 
Atts  could  think  up  anything  to  say.  Each  had 
bidden  farewell  to  the  world  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  now  in  a  sense  of  great  deliverance,  they  were 
trying  to  repossess  it. 

As  they  approached  the  landing  their  courage 
slowly  revived. 

"Dem  two  boats  sot  us  right  behime  death's 
door,  Skeeter,"  Vinegar  remarked  in  a  weak 
voice. 

"It  squoze  me  up  some  in  death's  door,"  Skeeter 
chattered,  slapping  at  his  wet  garments.  "Dat 
expe'unce  is  done  mint  me — I  won't  never  be  de 
same  agin." 

'Tse  glad  it  happened,"  Hitch  Diamond  growled. 
"It  wus  a  powerful  good  try-out  fer  dis  boat.  I 
don't  believe  nothing  kin  sink  her  now!" 

"Ain't  it  de  trufe!"  Figger  Bush  quacked.     "I 


n6      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

ain't  never  gwine  be  skeart  on  dis  Mud  Hen  no 
mo'." 

"You  look  at  dat  glass  water-tube  an*  see  is  de 
b'iler  got  plenty  water  in  it!"  Skeeter  barked. 
"Mebbe  some  spilt  out  when  we  wus  mighty  nigh 
upsot." 

Figger  skipped  to  the  water-gage  and  grinned 
triumphantly. 

"She's  all  right,"  he  yelped.  "Is  you  keepin' 
yo'  eye  on  dat  ole  steam-gage?" 

Skeeter  was. 

In  fact,  he  was  gazing  at  that  steam-gage  with 
hypnotic  fascination.-  He  swallowed  a  succession 
of  Adam's  apples  like  a  string  of  smoked  sausages 
before  he  could  speak. 

Skeeter  knew  precious  little  about  machinery. 
Pipe  Smash's  solemn  and  impressive  warning 
about  the  steam-gage  of  the  Mud  Hen  had  scared 
him.  His  experience  on  the  river  with  the  two  big 
boats  had  fortunately  not  upset  the  Mud  Hen, 
but  it  had  considerably  upset  Skeeter's  mind  and 
his  judgment.  What  Skeeter  thought  he  saw 
that  steam-gage  doing  is  a  mechanical  impossi 
bility,  but  his  announcement  had  a  startling 
effect. 

"Come  here,  fellers,  an*  look  at  dis  steam-gage!" 
he  wailed.  "Dat  indicator  is  done  gone  plum' 
aroun'  de  face  of  dat  clock  five  times  an' — she's 
— gwine — aroun' — again ! " 

"My  Gawd!"  Vinegar  Atts  whooped.  "Dis 
Mud  Hen  is  git  tin'  ready  to  bust !  Jump !  Jump 
fer  yo'  lives!" 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      117 

Four  negroes  went  over  the  side  into  the  middle 
of  the  river. 

The  Mtid  Hen,  paddling  busily,  kept  to  the  cur 
rent  and  moved  serenely  down  the  river. 

Then,  while  the  four  frightened  negroes  got 
the  shore,  frog-fashion,  Pipe  Smash  climbed  out 
from  his  hiding  place  in  front  of  the  engine,  and 
laid  his  experienced  hand  upon  the  pilot-wheel 
of  the  Mud  lien. 

He  glanced  at  the  steam-gage,  and  the  indicator 
pointed  steadily  at  sixty  degrees  of  steam.  Skeet- 
er's  terrified  eyes  had  played  a  trick  on  him! 

"Gosh!"  Pipe  Smash  exclaimed  with  a  wicked 
grin.  "I  never  had  no  idear  dat  steam-gage  wus 
gwine  skeer  dem  coons.  I  had  a  notion  dey  would 
leave  dis  boat  when  dey  got  kotch  in  de  big  wash 
of  de  steamboat  gwine  up  de  river.  I  wus  plannin' 
on  dat." 

He  stooped  and  threw  a  shovelful  of  coal  into 
the  furnace,  and  chuckled  aloud: 

"I  f ergot  to  tell  Skeeter  dat  de  furnace  of  dis 
engine  wus  so  little  dat  nobody  cain't  git  up  mo' 
dan  sixty  pounds  of  steam — 'tain't  no  danger  of  dis 
engine  bustin'  onless  de  b'iler  runs  dry.  Excusin' 
dat,  dis  here  indicator  cain't  slip  aroun'  five  times 
like  Skeeter  said  it  done — after  it  gits  past  dat 
biggest  number  on  de  gage,  it  hits  a  peg !  I  figger 
dat  Skeeter  was  skeart!" 

Pipe  walked  to  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  shading 
his  eyes  looked  up  the  river  to  the  Tickf  all  landing. 
He  waved  his  hat  in  the  air  and  whooped,  making 
more  noise  than  his  steamboat  whistle. 


n8      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Standing  upon  the  shore,  dripping  puddles 
from  their  water-soaked  garments,  the  Tickfall 
quartet  heard  that  ironical  whoop. 

Broken-hearted  and  disconsolate,  they  watched 
their  boat  move  serenely  around  the  lower  bend 
and  pass  out  of  sight  in  the  gold  and  purple  haze 
of  the  setting  sun. 

Returning  to  Tickfall  in  the  automobile,  the  four 
negroes  made  much  talk  over  the  loss  of  the  Mud 
Hen. 

"We  bought  dat  boat  good  an'  hones'  wid  real 
money,"  Skeeter  mourned.  "Pipe  Smash  stole 
it  from  us." 

"Mebbe  so,"  Vinegar  Atts  growled.  "But  it 
'pears  to  me  like  we  left  dat  boat  in  de  middle  of 
de  river,  an'  dat's  jes  de  same  as  givin'  it  to  any 
nigger  dat's  willin'  to  ketch  holt." 

"Dat's  de  way  I  felt  when  I  left  her,"  Figger 
Bush  cackled.  "I  warn't  needin'  no  steamboat 
jes'  den.  Skeeter  said  dat  steam-gage  wus  a  cuttin' 
up!  I  tuck  his  word  fer  it  'thout  lookin'." 

"Us,  too!"  Hitch  and  Vinegar  agreed. 

"Nothin'  didn't  ail  dat  steam-gage,"  Skeeter 
snapped.  "Dat  boat  didn't  bust — she  never 
would  'a'  busted.  My  eyes  wus  kinder  jiggerty 
an'  I  couldn't  look  real  good." 

"You  didn't  talk  that  way  on  de  boat, "  Vinegar 
Atts  growled.  ' '  I  done  loss  my  twenty-five  dollars 
because  you  didn't  hab  sense  enough  to  watch  yo' 
bizziness!" 

"My  hind-sight  is  always  better'n  my  eye 
sight,"  Skeeter  Butts  replied  in  piteous  accents. 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      119 

' '  I  must  hab  got  started  wrong  end  foremost  in  dis 
worl',  for  I  never  sees  nothin'  till  I  gits  past  it." 

"Stop  blimblammin',  niggers!"  Commodore 
Hitch  Diamond  ordered.  "Mebbe  we'll  git  back 
to  Tickfall  in  time  to  see  de  fire- works." 

"Dat  reminds  my  mind!"  Skeeter  Butts  ex 
claimed.  ' '  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  tole  us  to  git  back 
from  de  river  in  time  to  he'p  him  shoot  'em  off ! " 

The  Fourth  of  July  in  Tickfall  was  a  Gaitskill 
institution. 

In  the  month  of  May,  1865,  Tom  Gaitskill  re 
turned  to  Tickfall  in  the  tattered  gray  of  a  Con 
federate  soldier — a  colonel  at  nineteen  years  of 
age. 

He  cast  off  the  past  with  his  worn-out  garments, 
married  a  beautiful  girl,  and  started  with  her, 
hand  in  hand,  along  the  paths  of  peace. 

Two  months  later,  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  he 
dragged  the  only  cannon  Tickfall  possessed  to  the 
top  of  the  hill  in  front  of  his  house,  invited  every 
white  child  and  every  negro  piccaninny  to  his 
home  to  witness  the  celebration,  and  with  his 
own  hands  fired  one  shot  from  the  cannon  for 
every  year  of  independence  in  the  United  States 
of  America. 

As  the  years  passed,  the  Gaitskill  Fourth  of 
July  celebration  grew  and  developed  and  became  a 
social  institution,  until  finally,  when  wealth  flowed 
in  upon  Gaitskill  in  a  golden  stream,  he  made  it  a 
practice  to  entertain  the  whole  population  of  the 
village  on  that  night. 

The  fiftieth  celebration  was  now  in  progress. 


120      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

On  Gaitskill's  spacious  lawn  in  front  of  his 
house,  all  the  white  people,  men,  women,  and 
children,  had  assembled;  in  a  large  horse-lot  by 
the  side  of  the  house,  all  the  negroes  had  con 
gregated;  across  the  street  in  a  large  pasture  was 
an  immense  accumulation  of  fire- works. 

Fifty  years  had  performed  gracious  offices  for 
Tom  Gaitskill  and  his  wife.  The  beauty  and 
nobility  of  honorable  old  age  was  theirs,  as  they 
stood  beside  the  white  colonial  columns  of  their 
home  and  welcomed  their  guests,  white  and  black. 
The  two  presented  a  picture  which  a  man  sees 
once  in  a  lifetime — then  remembers  it  forever  more. 

Suddenly  "Old  Sneezer, "  the  venerable  Tickfall 
cannon,  boomed ! 

"Come  on,  Skeeter!"  Hitch  Diamond  growled. 
"We  better  go  over  in  de  pasture  an'  he'p  de  white 
folks  shoot  off  de  works!" 

"Hitch,"  Skeeter  answered  pitifully,  "I  feels 
powerful  sick.  It  'pears  like  I  cain't  git  dat 
steamboat  offen  my  mind.  You  an'  Vinegar  an' 
Figger  go  over  an*  he'p  de  white  folks  an'  let  me 
set  an'  ponder  a  while." 

"All  right!"  Hitch  growled.  "But  .ef  Marse 
Tom  ketches  you  cuttin'  out  wuck,  he'll  kick  you 
all  over  dis  hoss-lot!" 

Old  Sneezer  boomed  again! 

Then  for  two  hours  the  population  of  Tickfall 
sat  entranced. 

Numberless  roman  candles  shot  their  balls  high 
in  the  air  with  a  graceful  curve,  countless  sky 
rockets  burst  above  their  heads  in  a  shower  of 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      121 

sparks,  an  artillery  fire  of  bombs  burst  into  stars 
over  them,  cataracts  of  red,  white,  and  blue  fire 
flowed  in  a  tumbling  stream,  horses,  bicycles, 
automobiles,  and  whole  strings  of  railroad  cars 
traveled  across  the  pasture,  while  through  it  all 
sounded  the  boom!  boom!  boom!  of  old  Sneezer, 
the  cannon,  counting  the  number  of  years  of  our 
national  independence ! 

In  the  midst  of  this  celebration,  Skeeter  Butts 
was  suddenly  galvanized  into  action  by  a  great 
idea.  He  went  racing  across  the  street  into  the 
pasture,  and  drew  Hitch  Diamond  and  Figger 
Bush  to  one  side. 

''Listen,  niggers!*'  he  panted.  "Rake  off  some 
of  dese  here  fireworks !  Marse  Tom  is  got  a  heap 
mo'  dan  he  needs!  Swipe  out  a  few!" 

Following  his  own  suggestion,  Skeeter  seized  a 
keg  of  calcium  powder  and  ran  across  the  pasture, 
setting  it  in  the  corner  of  the  fence.  He  was 
followed  shortly  by  Hitch  Diamond  and  Figger 
Bush,  one  bringing  an  unopened  package  of  roman 
candles  and  the  other  a  package  of  sky-rockets. 

"Dat's  plenty  of  dis  kind  of  truck,  fellers!" 
Skeeter  cackled.  "Go  back  an'  rake  off  de  bigges' 
cannon  pop-crackers  you  kin  find!" 

From  that  moment  Skeeter  became  an  active 
assistant  in  the  celebration,  and  when  the  old 
cannon  boomed  for  the  last  time  and  the  fire 
works  ended  with  a  final  set-piece  which  revealed 
the  American  Flag,  twenty  feet  high  and  nearly 
forty  feet  long,  the  populace  of  Tickfall  roared 
their  hearty  approbation  to  the  skies. 


122      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Ten  minutes  later  a  procession  of  negroes 
marched  down  the  hill  from  the  Gaitskill  home, 
their  glorious,  pipe-organ  voices  chanting  the 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic. 

"Glory!  Glory!  Halleluiah! 
Our  God  is  marching  on!" 

At  midnight  the  marching  column  of  singing 
negroes  disbanded. 

' 'Vinegar,"  Skeeter  said,  "me  an'  Figger  an' 
Hitch  is  decided  to  go  to  Kerlerac  in  de  automobile 
an'  git  in  on  de  nigger  dance  at  dat  place." 

"I  ain't  gwine!"  Vinegar  answered.  "Tain't 
fitten  fer  a  nigger  preacher  to  dance.  Excusin' 
dat,  I's  too  fat  an'  de  women  folks  step  on  my 
foots." 

"You  got  to  go!"  Skeeter  wailed.  "You  got 
to  he'p  Hitch  Diamond  push  de  auto  through  de 
sand!" 

"Dat's  right,"  Vinegar  acceded.  "You  can't 
trabbel  nowhere  widout  my  muscle.  I'll  tag  along 
wid  you-alls ! " 

When  they  got  to  the  automobile  Vinegar  found 
certain  mysterious  bundles  piled  up  in  the  machine. 

"Whut  is  dis?"  he  demanded. 

"Fire- works!"  Skeeter  snickered.  "We  raked 
off  a  few  so  we  could  go  to  Kerlerac  an'  surprise 
dem  niggers!" 

"I's  glad  I's  gwine!"  Vinegar  chuckled.  "I 
bet  us  will  hab  plenty  big  doin's!" 

Three  hours  later  Skeeter  stopped  his  machine 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      123 

at  the  foot  of  the  Mississippi  protection  levee  at 
Kerlerac.  The  town  was  asleep.  There  were  no 
electric  lights  and  the  river  fog  concealed  the 
stars,  making  total  darkness. 

"Vinegar,"  Skeeter  said,  "does  you  still  mourn 
de  loss  of  dat  stove-pipe  preachin'  hat  whut  you 
drapped  in  de  river  to-day?" 

"I  suttinly  do!"  Vinegar  growled. 

"Would  you  wish  to  earn  another  good  silk  hat 
by  a  little  wuck?"  Skeeter  inquired  next. 

"Shorely." 

"I'll  make  you  a  present  of  a  ten-dollar  silk 
hat,  white  silk  linin'  on  de  inside  an'  slick,  shiny 
fur  on  de  outside  wid  a  red  silk  handkercher  to 
slick  it  up  wid,  ef  you'll  take  my  auto  back  to 
Tickfall  to-night  an'  meet  me  at  de  Tickfall  Ian  din' 
on  de  river  to-morrow  mawnin', "  Skeeter  Butts 
said. 

"Whut— whut " 

"Don't  ax  no  'terrogations ! "  Skeeter  snapped. 

"I'll  do  it!"  Vinegar  howled. 

Hitch  Diamond  lifted  out  the  bundles,  and 
Vinegar  sat  down  at  the  wheel,  turned  the  ma 
chine,  and  roared  his  farewell  to  the  men. 

Picking  up  the  bundles,  Skeeter  led  his  friends 
down  the  levee  for  a  short  distance,  stopping  when 
he  saw  a  black  shape  on  the  water. 

Taking  an  electric  flashlight  from  his  pocket, 
Skeeter  sent  the  glare  across  to  the  bulky  object 
looming  in  the  darkness. 

"Look  at  dat!"  Hitch  Diamond  growled. 
"Dar's  our  boat !  Dat's  shore  de  Mud  Hen." 


124      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

Skeeter  reflected  the  light  upon  the  water  beside 
the  boat  until  it  rested  upon  a  canoe. 

"Pipe  Smash  is  on  dat  boat  now!"  Figger  Bush 
whispered.  "I  bet  he  got  drunk  at  de  nigger 
dance  an'  is  sound  asleep!" 

"Now,  fellers,"  Skeeter  began,  "you  listen  to 
me- 

Skeeter  talked  like  a  grape-juice  orator  for  five 
minutes,  and  his  audience  of  two  listened  with 
breathless  attention. 

After  that  Skeeter  went  aboard  the  boat, 
climbing  the  rope  hand  over  hand,  and  paddled 
the  canoe  back  for  his  bundles  and  his  friends. 

Pipe  Smash  lay  in  a  drunken  slumber  on  the 
deck  with  his  head  toward  the  warm  furnace  of 
the  engine. 

Skeeter  untied  the  boat  from  a  stump,  paddled 
to  the  Mud  Hen,  climbed  aboard,  and  let  the 
steamboat  drift  slowly  out  into  the  current. 

When  they  had  floated  about  two  miles  below 
Kerlerac,  where  the  heavy  woods  lay  upon  each 
side  of  the  river,  Skeeter  crawled  upon  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  from  the  keg  which  he  had  stolen 
from  Gaitskill  laid  a  heavy  trail  of  calcium  powder 
all  around  the  boat. 

Hitch  opened  the  furnace  door  and  laid  twenty- 
four  large  sky-rockets  on  the  hot  ashes,  and  left 
the  door  open. 

Figger  Bush  opened  a  package  of  roman-candles, 
scooped  up  a  shovel  of  live  coals  from  the  furnace, 
and  laid  it  beside  the  package. 

Skeeter  lighted  the  fuses  of  half  a  dozen  immense 


The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen      125 

cannon-crackers  and  dropped  them  carelessly 
near  the  sleeping  form  of  Pipe  Smash. 

Then  the  three  hid  themselves  where  they  could 
see  without  being  seen. 

The  cannon-crackers  exploded  with  a  detona 
tion  which  reverberated  from  the  immense  woods, 
shook  every  piece  of  wood  in  the  fragile  boat,  and 
sounded  like  a  little  war. 

Pipe  Smash  awoke  from  his  deep  dream  of  peace 
with  a  loud  yelp.  He  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes, 
wondering  what  had  happened. 

Instantly  a  trail  of  red  fire,  started  by  Skeeter 
Butts,  changing  to  blue,  yellow,  green,  and  white, 
spun  like  a  flaming  snake  around  the  deck  of  the 
boat,  and  Pipe  Smash  lay  back  on  the  deck,  whirl 
ing  over  and  over  like  a  worm  on  a  hot  griddle, 
whooping  like  a  siren. 

From  out  of  the  furnace  door  twenty-four  sky 
rockets  roared,  shot  out  over  Pipe's  head,  struck 
the  deck  with  a  hiss  changing  to  a  loud  screech, 
ricochetted  around  the  boat,  and  burst  into  ten 
thousand  stars  against  the  puny  smoke-stack  and 
the  fragile  roof. 

In  a  split  second  Pipe  Smash  was  as  crazy  as  a 
bug  with  fright . 

He  spun  around  that  boat-deck  like  a  cat  in  a 
fit,  squalled  and  spat  and  screeched  and  scratched, 
rolled  and  tumbled,  jumped  to  his  feet  and  kicked, 
fell  flat  on  his  back,  rolled  over,  crawled  on  all 
fours,  and  performed  every  stunt  within  the  range 
of  physical  activity. 

To  his  terrified  vision,  the  Mud  Tien  was  aglow 


126      The  Cruise  of  the  Mud  Hen 

with  fire,  the  dense  woods  along  the  river  were 
ablaze,  the  water  was  a  glowing  coal-ember,  and 
the  river  fog  twisted  and  turned  and  folded  back 
upon  itself  and  became  great  glowing  blankets 
of  flame.  Earth  and  sky  and  water  were  wrapped 
in  one  horrible  red  conflagration,  while  from  every 
part  of  the  boat  the  tongues  of  flame  leaped  out, 
licking  at  his  cringing  flesh ! 

Pipe  Smash  shrieked  and  went  over  the  side. 

Keeping  carefully  concealed,  Skeeter,  Hitch, 
and  Figger  seized  their  roman-candles,  lighted 
them  by  thrusting  them  in  the  hot  embers  in  the 
shovel,  and  peppered  the  water  around  the 
struggling,  shrieking,  diving,  choking,  swimming 
negro  as  far  as  they  could  see  him. 

Then  Skeeter  dropped  a  live  coal  into  the  keg 
of  calcium  powder,  and  the  boat  was  enveloped 
in  a  red  glow  of  smoke  and  fire. 

Running  through  the  deep  woods  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  Pipe  Smash  glanced  behind  him  and 
saw  his  steamboat  blazing  to  the  heavens,  and 
bade  it  good-by  forever. 

Then  followed  darkness  and  great  silence  while 
the  Mud  lien  drifted  on  the  current. 

Early  that  morning,  as  the  Mud  Hen,  in  the  proud 
possession  of  her  rightful  owners,  clucked  noisily  up 
to  the  Tickfall  landing,  the  reverent  Vinegar  Atts 
climbed  out  of  the  automobile,  stood  up  on  the 
levee,  belled  his  gorilla-like  hands  around  his  mouth, 
and  in  true  orthodox,  camp-meeting  tones,  gave  the 
negro's  universal  shout  of  happiness  and  victory : 

"Bless  Gawd!" 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow. 

i 

"ALL  DE  WORL'  AM  SAD  AN*  DREARY." 

MUSTARD  PROPHET,  overseer  of  the  Nigger- 
Heel  plantation,  sat  on  a  box  under  a  horse-shed  in 
the  rear  of  the  Gaitskill  store. 

The  gathering  dusk  of  the  October  evening  lent 
beauty  to  his  sordid  surroundings,  and  Mustard 
sweetened  the  scene  by  music.  His  thick  lips 
caressed  the  silver  mouthpiece  of  a  cornet,  and  his 
bellows-like  lungs  sent  forth  strains  which  made  all 
Tickf all  listen: 

"All  de  worl'  am  sad  an'  dreary,  eb'rywhar  I 
roam — " 

Wherever  music  is  there  the  negroes  are  gathered 
together.  In  a  moment  Pap  Curtain  entered  the 
lot. 

He  was  welcome  because  he  carried  a  trombone. 

"How  come  you  toot  sich  sad  toons,  Mustard?" 
Pap  inquired  as  he  took  his  own  musical  instru 
ment  out  of  a  dirty  green  bag. 

"Ain't  us  all  sons  of  sorrer,  Pap?"  Mustard 
demanded  in  an  argumentative  tone.  "Fo'  hun 
dred  bales  of  cotton  raised  on  de  Nigger-Heel 

127 


128       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

plantation  by  me — an'  how  much  does  me  an' 
Marse  Tom  git  fer  it?  Jes'  perzackly  nothin'  an' 
not  no  more. ' ' 

"De  white  folks  is  argufyin'  'bout  a  buy-a-bale 
move, "  Pap  began. 

"Huh,"  Mustard  snorted.  ''Me  an'  Marse 
Tom  is  argufyin'  'bout  a  sell-a-bale  move.  I  come 
to  town  to  corn  verse  him  'bout  dat. " 

Pap's  trombone  was  ready,  and  the  conversation 
ended  with  the  lively  strains  of  a  duet,  the  refrain 
of  which  was:  "De  nigger  hoes  de  cotton  an'  cawn, 
but  de  white  man  gits  de  money. " 

At  the  far  end  of  the  town  a  black  saddle-horse 
emerged  from  the  shadows  of  the  swamp  road  and 
sailed  up  the  sandy  street  with  a  motion  as  steady 
and  rhythmical  as  the  flight  of  a  bird. 

Balanced  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  the  rider 
held  a  heavy  canvas  bag  filled  with  gold  and  silver 
coins,  but  so  easy  was  the  gait  of  that  superb  horse 
that  not  a  coin  rattled.  From  long  habit  the 
animal  stopped  in  front  of  the  Tickfall  bank. 

The  rider  dismounted  and  walked  to  the  door, 
feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  keys. 

Failing  to  find  his  keys,  he  set  the  bag  of  money 
on  the  steps  and  began  a  search  of  his  clothes,  but 
without  success.  After  a  moment's  thought  he 
remounted  his  horse  and  rode  down  the  street  to 
his  store. 

The  closing  hour  was  six  o'clock,  and  as  it  was 
nearly  an  hour  later  than  that,  he  found  the  store 
also  locked.  But  he  stopped  at  the  home  of  one 
of  his  clerks  and  secured  a  key. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       129 

Entering  the  building,  he  opened  a  small  iron 
safe  in  the  office  situated  in  the  middle  of  the 
store,  placed  the  bag  of  money  within,  and  gave 
the  combination-knob  a  few  quick  turns. 

Then  hearing  the  lively  duet  in  the  rear  of  the 
store,  he  passed  out  into  the  lot.  The  duet  came 
to  a  quick  close. 

" Howdy,  Marse  Tom?"  the  negroes  exclaimed 
in  concert.  Then  Mustard  Prophet  added,  "I 
been  waitin'  fer  you  all  dis  Saddy  atternoon. " 

"I  knew  it  was  you,  Mustard, "  Gaitskill  grinned. 
"I've  been  hearing  the  sound  of  that  old  cornet 
twenty  years,  and  I'd  recognize  it  in  China. 
What's  aching  now?" 

"Marse  Tom,  ain't  dese  here  hard  times? 
Ain't  money  skeercer  dan  snow  in  a  hot  biscuit- 
pan?" 

"Just  so,"  Gaitskill  said.  "I've  been  out 
collecting  to-day,  and  I  know." 

' '  I  reckin  you  an'  me  will  hab  to  keep  on  trustin' 
de  Lawd,  Marse  Tom — yes,  suh,  as  de  old  Injun 
useter  say,  trus'  de  good  Lawd  an'  keep  our  cotton 
dry." 

"What  did  you  want  to  see  me  about? "  Gaitskill 
asked. 

"Look  at  dese  clothes,  Marse  Tom!"  Mustard 
answered  earnestly.  "Look  at  dese  here  empty 
pockets!  Ain't  dey  no  way  to  sell  our  cotton? 
Don't  I  git  no  loose  change  fer  my  year's  hard 
wuck?" 

"Trust  the  good  Lord!"  Gaitskill  grinned 
mockingly. 


130       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"I'm  is  trus'  de  good  Lawd,  Marse  Tom,  but 
dat  ain't  git  menothin'.  An'  I'm  jes'  'bleeged  to 
tell  you,  Marse  Tom,  dat  while  I  still  trus'  de  Lawd 
I's  lookin'  to  you  fer  some  good  clothes  an'  some 
money." 

"Put  not  your  trust  in  princes,"  Gaitskill  said 
with  solemn  mockery.  ' '  Trust  the  Lord ! ' ' 

The  negro  fumbled  at  the  keys  of  his  cornet 
and  sighed. 

Gaitskill  watched  him  with  twinkling  eyes. 
He  was  the  best  plow  hand,  the  best  hoe  hand,  the 
best  negro  overseer  in  Louisiana,  and  for  twenty 
years  had  been  in  charge  of  Gaitskill's  famous 
Nigger-Heel  plantation. 

Simple,  confiding,  good-natured,  trustworthy, 
industrious,  Gaitskill  was  very  fond  of  him  and 
would  do  anything  in  reason  for  him.  He  loved  to 
point  him  out  to  his  friends  as  the  negro  whose 
hard  work  had  made  the  Nigger-Heel  one  of  the 
show-places  among  the  plantations  of  the  state. 

"We'll  talk  about  it  to-morrow,  Mustard," 
Gaitskill  proposed.  "What  are  you  going  to  do 
to-night?" 

"Hopey's  lookin'  fer  me  up  to  yo'  house,  Marse 
Tom, "  Mustard  declared,  all  his  gloom  gone.  "I 
ain't  saw  dat  wife  of  mine  sence  all  dis  here  war 
trouble  come  on  me. " 

"I  want  you  to  sleep  in  this  store  to-night," 
Gaitskill  said.  "Pile  up  some  of  the  empty  oat- 
sacks  in  the  rear  of  the  store  and  make  a  bed. " 

"Yes,  suh.  I'll  take  keer  of  eve'ything.  You 
knows  me,  Marse  Tom.  Gimme  de  key!" 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       131 

Gaitskill  passed  over  the  door-key  and  the  negro 
followed  him  through  the  store  to  his  horse. 

"Marse  Tom,"  he  said,  as  Gaitskill  was  mount 
ing  his  horse,  "'bout  dis  here  war  in  Yurope;  I 
don't  see  no  signs  of  no  war  in  Yurope.  Now,  I 
riggers  it  out  dis  way:  de  Yanks  up  Nawf  is  done 
bought  up  all  de  newspapers  an*  dey's  skeerin'  us 
wid  all  dis  war-talk  so  dey  kin  run  de  price  of  cotton 
down  an'  all  us  pore  niggers " 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  Gaitskill  said. 

Mustard  watched  the  horseman  until  the  dust 
and  dark  swallowed  him  up  far  down  the  street. 
Then  he  turned  back  into  the  store  with  a  grin: 

"Dat  white  man  ain't  onsottlin'  his  mind  'bout 
no  war.  He  owns  a  bank ! " 

Mustard  locked  the  front  door,  shutting  himself 
in,  then  passed  through  the  rear  door  into  the  lot 
where  Pap  Curtain  was  still  waiting  for  him. 

"Pap,"  Mustard  began,  "does  you  know  how 
come  a  nigger  wucks  wid  his  hands,  while  the  white 
man  riggers  and  counts  his  money?" 

"Naw." 

"Well,  suh,  hit  happened  this  way:  A  nigger,  a 
Injun,  an'  a  white  man  wus  playin'  seben-up  under 
de  shade  of  a  tree.  De  good  Lawd  drapped  down  a 
box  of  tools  right  close  to  whar  dey  wus  settin', 
an'  all  of  'em  hopped  up  to  git  whut  wus  comin' 
to  'em.  De  nigger  wus  hoggish  an'  he  grabbed  de 
bigges'  things,  an'  he  got  a  shovel,  a  hoe,  an'  a  spade. 
De  Injun,  he  had  to  hab  his'n,  so  he  grabbed  de 
bow  'n'  arrer.  Dar  warn't  nothin'  lef '  fer  de  white 
man  but  a  pen,  so  de  white  man,  he  riggers!" 


132       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  whut  de  good  Book  say.  But 
I's  heerd  tell  it  diffunt. " 

"How's  dat?"  Mustard  asked. 

"De  good  Lawd  made  a  nigger,  a  white  man,  an' 
a  Injun  outen  good  clean  mud.  Atter  de  dirt  had 
dried  real  good,  He  fotch  'em  befo'  de  big  white 
jedgment  seat. 

"He  say  to  de  white  man: 'Whut  you  gwine 
do?'  De  white  man  specify:  'I's  gwine  be  a  mer 
chant.'  Den  He  say  to  de  Injun:  'Whut  you 
gwine  do?'  De  Injun  spoke  Him  back:  Tse  gwine 
hunt  and  fish. ' 

"Den  He  say  to  de  nigger: '  What  you  gwine  do, 
cullud  pusson  ? '  De  nigger,  he  claw  his  head  an' 
'spon':  '  Dunno,  boss.  I  reckin  I'll  jes'  foller  atter 
de  boys.  Mebbe  dar'll  be  cold  vittles  lef '  over  fer 
me!'" 

"Dat's  shore  a  true  savin',  Pap,"  Mustard 
grinned.  "An'  dat  reminds  my  mind.  Marse 
Tom  didn't  say  nothin'  'bout  me  gittin'  my  supper 
nowhar. " 

"White  folks  cain't  turn  a  dog  in  a  meat-house 
or  a  nigger  in  a  sto'-house  an'  especk  him  to  starve 
to  death,"  Pap  suggested. 

"An'  of  co'se,  white  folks  cain't  be  mad  ef  de  dog 
or  de  nigger  gives  a  invite  to  his  frien', "  Mustard 
grinned.  ' '  Come  in,  Pap,  less  git  somepin  to  eat ! ' ' 

In  the  rear  of  the  store  they  switched  on  an 
electric  light,  set  out  an  empty  box  to  serve  for  a 
table,  and  began  a  search  for  food.  There  was 
plenty  of  it,  and  they  helped  themselves  and  each 
other  with  extravagant  liberality. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       133 

For  a  long  time  utterance  was  impeded  by  food, 
but  at  last  Pap  Curtain  managed  to  articulate  a 
query : 

"Mustard,  wid  all  dis  grub  in  dis  ration-house, 
how  come  ole  Miss  Mildred  Gait  skill  is  so  skinny 
an'  Marse  Tom  ain't  no  fatter  dan  he  wus  when  we 
fust  knowed  him  fawty  year  ago?" 

"Fattenin'  hogs  ain't  in  luck,"  Mustard  told 
him  philosophically.  "When  you  gits  all  you 
wants  to  eat,  look  out  for  de  butcher!  Escusin' 
dat,  white  folks  ain't  studyin'  'bout  somepin  to 
eat.  Dey  studies  money. " 

"Huh,"  Pap  sighed,  as  he  rubbed  his  stomach, 
then  rose  and  walked  around  the  store  to  make 
room  for  more  food.  "I  wouldn't  mind  a  invite 
to  hold  dis  fer  a  constant  job — plenty  of  steady 
sleep  an'  reg'lar  rations. " 

"I's  got  to  whar  I  kin  still  chaw,  but  I  cain't 
swaller  much  mo',"  Mustard  lamented.  "Less 
hunt  somepin  kinder  loose  an'  little  to  eat,  so  it'll 
fill  up  de  cracks  inside  us!" 

The  hours  passed. 

At  last  Mustard  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  His 
stomach  was  gorged,  his  head  blood-flushed  until 
his  temples  throbbed  like  drums.  He  kicked  over 
the  box  which  had  served  as  a  table,  thus  dumping 
the  cans  and  bottles  and  other  empty  receptacles 
into  a  corner  of  the  store  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Whar  is  de  seegaws  in  dis  sto'?"  Pap  inquired 
sleepily. 

"I'll  git  'em,"  Mustard  said. 

Selecting  the  largest  cigars   in   stock,  he  wan- 


134       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

dered  sleepily  back  to  Pap  Curtain.  The  clock  in 
the  court-house  steeple  tolled  the  hour.  Mustard 
counted. 

' '  Twelve ! "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  Here  we  been  eatin ' 
five  hours  an'  to-morrer  is  de  secont  day!  Git 
outen  dis  sto',  Pap  Curtain!" 

Pap  rose,  and  Mustard  followed  him  to  the  rear 
door  and  shut  him  out. 

Then,  tossing  his  cigar  aside,  Mustard  piled  an 
armload  of  sacks  in  the  corner,  snapped  off  the 
electric  light,  and  sprawled  down  upon  his  pallet, 
sinking  instantly  into  a  slumber  like  the  lethargy 
of  the  gorged  boa  constrictor,  or  the  inertia  of  the 
hibernating  bear. 

He  was  a  sound  sleeper. 

II 

THE  LONE  WOLF. 

Slatey  the  Skull  was  a  gentleman  of  leisure 
and  perverted  education;  he  was  also  a  nitro- 
glycerin  expert,  making  a  specialty  of  the  appli 
cation  of  this  sovereign  explosive  to  burglar-proof 
safes. 

He  was  a  child  of  the  congested  cities,  loving  the 
noise  and  clatter  of  their  streets,  the  whir  of  ma 
chinery,  the  hum  and  hustle  of  their  myriad  life. 
But  tuberculosis  clutched  at  his  panting,  crumbling 
lungs  with  the  pitiless  fingers  of  death,  and  the 
ravages  of  the  disease  had  changed  a  naturally 
ruddy  countenance  into  the  emaciated,  soapstone- 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       135 

colored  face  which  gave  him  the  name  among  his 
fellows. 

Under  sentence  of  death,  imposed,  not  by  the 
law  of  the  land  which  he  defied,  but  by  the  law  of 
life  which  defied  him,  he  had  wandered  from  the 
city  to  the  deep  woods  and  sparsely  populated 
villages  of  the  South  as  a  wild  goat  leaves  its 
fellows  and  crawls  into  some  desolate  mountain 
cave  to  languish  and  die  alone. 

Despairing  of  his  own  life,  indifferent  to  the  lives 
of  others,  he  was  a  lone  wolf,  perilous,  predaceous, 
as  quick  to  strike  and  as  deadly  as  a  viper.  His 
admiring  fellows  said  of  him  that  he  could  "smell 
money. " 

Slipping  like  a  shadow  from  the  log-train  which 
stopped  for  water  at  Tickfall  shortly  after  mid 
night,  he  wandered  up  the  crooked,  silent,  de 
serted  streets  toward  the  business  portion  of  the 
village. 

Pausing  before  the  door  of  the  Gaitskill  store, 
his  thin,  flexible  nostrils  quivered  like  a  rabbit's 
nose^  Flattening  himself  against  the  door  like  the 
wraith  of  a  man,  his  keen  eyes  searched  the  streets, 
his  acutely  sensitive  ears  listened  intently. 

Then  he  turned,  and  with  an  ease  like  the  magic 
of  a  sleight-of-hand  performer,  he  opened  the  door 
and  entered  the  store. 

"I  smell  a  nigger, "  he  muttered  with  a  curse,  as 
the  stale  odor  of  cigar  smoke  racked  his  frail  body 
with  noiseless  coughing. 

Leaving  the  front  door  unlocked,  he  walked 
noiselessly  down  the  avenue  between  the  counters 


, 


136       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

to  open  the  door  in  the  rear.  There  he  found 
Mustard  Prophet  sleeping  on  a  pile  of  sacks, 
invisible  to  the  eye,  but  easily  vizualized  by  the 
trained  mind  of  the  Skull  as  he  listened  to  Mus 
tard's  stertorous  breathing. 

"A  nigger,"  he  racked  with  his  noiseless  cough, 
"  stuffed  like  a  fat  woman's  stocking,  sleeping  like 
a  stiff!" 

He  walked  back  to  the  little  office  partitioned  off 
in  the  middle  of  the  store.  His  frail  fingers 
fumbled  with  the  combination  knob  of  the  safe  for 
a  moment,  then  caressed  its  top  and  sides. 

"Forty  years  old,"  he  sighed,  "and  made  of 
pot-metal.  If  I  was  not  so  weak,  I'd  turn  it  over 
and  kick  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  it  with  my  sore 
toe.  As  it  is,  I'll  have  to  work  with  this  soup  and 
cough  like  an  alligator  for  a  week  with  its  fumes  in 
my  lungs." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  door  of  the  safe  swung 
crazily  open,  hanging  upon  a  half -broken  hinge. 

The  bony  arm  and  hand  of  the  Skull  explored 
the  contents.  His  fingers  grasped  the  top  of  the 
coarse  bag  which  Colonel  Gaitskill  had  placed 
there  a  few  hours  before,  and  he  lifted  it  out. 

"No  further  seek  its  contents  to  disclose  or  draw 
its  dollars  from  their  frail  abode,"  the  Skull 
parodied.  "The  simp  put  it  all  in  one  sack  for  me 
and  tied  the  top  with  a  rawhide  string. " 

His  fingers  fumbled  the  contents  of  the  sack 
through  the  thick  cloth. 

"Gosh!"  he  sighed.  "Gold  and  silver  and  a 
little  dirty  paper  money — heavy  as  pig-iron — and 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       137 

I'm  too  weak  to  carry  an  empty  pill-box  across  the 
street  to  a  homeopathic  doctor. " 

Nevertheless,  he  took  the  bag  with  him  as  he 
started  to  leave.  At  the  rear  door,  he  paused  at 
the  pallet  where  Mustard  lay  sprawled  out  and  a 
sardonic  smile  distorted  his  skull-like  face. 

' '  Behold  the  guardian  of  this  gold ! "  he  muttered. 
"Strange  the  South  has  been  the  fall  guy  for  this 
sort  of  servant  ever  since  the  South  began.  Well, 
Caesar  had  his  Brutus,  and  every  colonel  has  his 
coon!" 

Then  he  stepped  out  into  the  lot  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

There  was  the  crack  of  a  pistol,  and  a  bullet 
plugged  into  the  door-jamb. 

"You  missed,  friend!"  the  Skull  called  taunt 
ingly.  "I  had  my  sharp  edge  turned  toward 
you!" 

The  night  prowler  in  the  Southern  village  seek 
ing  spoils  is  exposed  to  no  danger  by  the  night 
watchman  sleeping  sweetly  on  a  soft  stone  step. 
The  yeggman  dreads  the  fox-hunters. 

They  leave  town  at  sundown  accompanied  by 
friends,  followed  by  dogs,  comforted  by  the  con 
tents  of  sundry  jugs.  They  are  kept  keyed  up  to 
alert  wakefulness  by  the  excitement  of  the  chase 
and  return  only  when  the  jugs  are  empty. 

It  was  a  party  of  fox-hunters,  headed  by  Sheriff 
Flournoy,  with  whom  Slatey  the  Skull  had  now  to 
deal.  Passing  through  the  town  on  their  return 
from  the  hunt  they  had  heard  the  dull  explosion 
in  the  store  and  had  made  an  investigation.  They 


138       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

were  now  in  ambush,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of 
the  safe-blower. 

It  was  Flournoy's  pistol  which  had  roused  the 
Skull  to  his  danger. 

But  the  Skull  was  not  disturbed.  Shifting  his 
bag  of  money  so  that  he  carried  it  on  his  left  arm  as 
a  woman  carries  a  bundle,  he  slipped  his  automatic 
from  his  pocket. 

Crouching  low  in  the  darkness  and  walking  with 
the  noiseless  tread  of  a  cat  within  ten  feet  of  Flour- 
noy,  he  passed  unobserved  by  the  sheriff  out  of 
the  lot  into  the  alley  and  on  to  the  front  of  the 
store.  The  bullets  zipped  around  him  as  he  ran 
out  of  the  alley  toward  the  middle  of  the  street,  but 
the  Skull's  first  shot  was  upward  at  the  electric 
street  light  which  went  out,  leaving  him  sheltered 
by  almost  total  darkness. 

Running  down  the  alley,  Flournoy  fired  into 
that  circle  of  darkness  at  a  venture. 

The  answer  of  the  Skull's  gun  was  instantaneous. 
The  sheriff  felt  a  jar  which  almost  paralyzed  his 
right  arm.  Making  an  investigation  he  uttered  a 
low  exclamation  of  wonder  and  admiration:  The 
Skull's  bullet  had  struck  and  destroyed  the  sheriff's 
weapon. 

In  the  mean  time  the  rest  of  the  fox-hunters 
had  been  spreading  out,  trailing  along  the  street  in 
front  of  the  store.  In  a  moment  half  a  dozen 
pistols  began  to  shoot  and  the  Skull  was  engaged 
in  the  battle  of  his  life. 

In  the  Louisiana  villages  promiscuous  shooting 
upon  the  street  at  night  is  a  fire-alarm.  Roused 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       139 

by  such  shooting,  men  quickly  slip  on  their  clothes, 
seize  their  own  firearms,  and  run  down  the  street 
toward  the  first  alarm,  firing  into  the  air  as  they 
run,  thus  rousing  the  whole  town. 

All  over  Tickfall,  men  heard  what  they  thought 
was  a  fire-signal  from  the  business  section  of  the 
village.  Fearful  of  losing  their  stores  and  offices, 
they  ran  toward  the  fray,  shouting  and  shooting, 
until  Tickfall  sounded  like  a  battle  with  a  thou 
sand  men  engaged. 

"The  beggars  are  coming  to  town,"  Slatey  the 
Skull  quoted  with  a  skinny  smile.  "I'll  wait  until 
the  mob  arrives,  then  slip  through  the  crowd  in  the 
dark." 

But  alas,  the  Skull  was  not  acquainted  with 
Sheriff  Flournoy. 

Adopting  the  old  Indian  trick  of  lying  flat  on  the 
ground,  thus  throwing  the  object  he  was  approach 
ing  against  the  sky  so  that  he  could  see  it,  the 
sheriff  with  bones  like  an  ox  and  a  mouth  as  grim 
and  cruel  as  a  bear-trap  was  slowly  crawling  toward 
the  sardonic  creature  of  skin  and  bones,  as  frail 
and  delicate  as  a  girl,  who  sat  sedately  beside  the 
stolen  money-bag. 

Suddenly  Slatey  screamed  like  a  wildcat  and 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

Wrestling  with  his  feeble  strength,  shooting 
wildly,  biting,  clawing,  he  struggled  in  the  bear-like 
hug  of  the  giant  sheriff.  Then  something  snapped 
inside  the  Skull's  body  and  with  a  frightened 
"Ah!"  he  sank  limply  into  the  hands  of  his  cap  tor. 

At  that  moment  the  street  was  filled  with  armed 


140       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

men,  white  and  black,  looking  for  the  conflagra 
tion.  Explanations  flew  from  lip  to  lip.  Some 
one  entered  the  Gaitskill  store  and  turned  on  the 
lights. 

Then  Sheriff  Flournoy  entered  carrying  Slatey 
the  Skull. 

"Is  he  dead?'*  the  crowd  asked  in  one  breath. 

"I  think  not,"  the  sheriff  said.  "I  did  not 
shoot." 

"Gib  him  a  leetle  dram,  Mister  Johnnie,"  Pap 
Curtain  spoke  up. 

"Go  over  to  my  office  and  get  my  flask,  Pap," 
the  sheriff  commanded,  as  he  tossed  Curtain  his 
office  keys,  "You'll  find  it  on  my  desk. " 

Pap  Curtain  started  after  that  flask  at  full  speed. 
In  the  middle  of  the  street,  under  the  broken  elec 
tric  light,  his  foot  struck  a  coarse  canvas  bag,  he 
stumbled,  fell  headlong,  butted  a  hitching  post 
with  a  resounding  whack  and  stayed  right  there. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  crowd  found  him,  uncon 
scious,  clutching  the  office  keys  in  his  cold  hand. 

One  negro,  a  belated  arrival,  saw  Pap  Curtain 

fall 

He  ran  to  Pap's  rescue,  but  never  arrived.  His 
foot  also  struck  that  bag.  Stooping,  he  picked  it 
up,  felt  of  its  contents,  recognized  the  familiar 
rattle  of  coins,  and  promptly  departed,  taking  that 
bag  with  him  lest  some  other  person  fall  over  it 
and  get  hurt. 

The  sheriff  had  no  sooner  sent  Pap  Curtain  after 
a  flask  than  several  were  produced  and  tendered. 
The  liquor,  poured  down  the  throat  of  Slatey, 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       141 

started  a  shudderlike  cough  and  a  bloody  spume 
issued  from  the  wounded  man's  mouth.  Then  he 
spoke  splutteringly : 

"You  broke  a  rib  and  caved  it  through  the  only 
good  lung  I  have,  Mr.  Officer.  I  guess  you  win. " 

"Where's  the  money?"  Flournoy  demanded. 

' '  I — ah — "  A  shuddering,  racking  cough  stopped 
all  speech  and  the  pitiful  creature  struggled 
as  if  he  were  never  to  breathe  again.  At  last  he 
spoke : 

"I'm  suffering  very  much.     Get  a  doctor — " 

"Where's  the  money?"  several  men  asked  in  a 
chorus. 

"That's  for  you  to  find  out, "  the  Skull  answered, 
with  a  momentary  flash  of  his  old  lawless  spirit. 
Then  weakly:  "Get  a  doctor!" 

"Where's  the  money?"  Colonel  Gaitskill  asked, 
bending  over  Slatey. 

"Where's  the  sawbones,  Santa  Claus?"  Slatey 
mocked,  coughing  little  flecks  of  blood  off  his  lips. 

"Get  a  doctor!"  Gaitskill  commanded  sharply, 
glaring  at  the  crowrd. 

Dr.  Shuttle  stepped  forth,  producing,  with  an 
important  air,  a  pocket  medical  case  containing  a 
hypodermic  needle  and  several  vials  of  medicine. 

Dr.  Shuttle  was  young  and  very  ambitious.  He 
quickly  made  a  hypodermic  injection  into  the 
Skull's  side.  It  eased  the  criminal's  pain.  In  fact 
he  has  never  suffered  since.  In  short,  he  died. 

"Where's  the  money?"  the  sheriff  demanded 
again,  shaking  the  lifeless  form. 

The  Skull's  mouth  drooped  open  in  a  grotesque 


142       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

imitation  of  a  laugh.  Slatey  had  nothing  more  to 
say. 

"Thunderation!"  the  sheriff  exclaimed  in  a 
mighty  voice.  "Hunt  around  for  that  money 
bag.  This  fellow  did  not  get  away  with  it. " 

Oil  lanterns  were  quickly  procured  and  the 
crowd  searched  the  street,  the  alley,  the  lot  in  the 
rear  and  the  neighboring  places.  They  discovered 
nothing  but  the  limp  form  of  Pap  Curtain. 

While  the  crowd  was  gathering  around  Curtain, 
from  inside  the  store  a  mighty  shout  arose: 

"Here's  the  other  one,  Flournoy!" 

The  crowd  plunged  into  the  store,  surged  to  the 
rear  and  gathered  in  a  tight  circle  around  the 
prostrate  form  of  Mustard  Prophet. 

He  was  still  asleep! 

Ill 

THE  SLEEPER  WAKES. 

A  number  of  eager  feet  kicked  Mustard  Prophet 
into  wakefulness. 

As  many  willing  hands  assisted  him  to  his  feet. 
He  stood  among  them,  glaring  owlishly,  blinded 
by  the  light,  confused  by  the  noise,  frightened  by 
the  unaccountable  presence  of  most  of  the  male 
inhabitants  of  Tickfall. 

"'Scuse  me,  white  folks, "  he  began.  "I  shore 
is  befuddled-up  by  all  dis  here  gwines-on.  Marse 
Tom  say  fer  me  not  to  let  nobody  in  dis  here 
sto'-house. " 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       143 

"Where's  that  money?"  a  voice  demanded. 

' '  Which  ? ' '  Mustard  asked. 

"Where's  that  money  you  and  the  white  man 
got?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  money,  white  folks,"  Mustard 
declared.  "You-all  ax  Marse  Tom!  An'  Marse 
Tom  say  me  not  to  let  nobody  in  dis  sto' — " 

"Aw,  come  off!"  another  voice  exclaimed. 
"You  ain't  been  sleeping  through  all  this  racket. 
Tell  us  where  the  bag  of  money  is!" 

"Befo'  Gawd,  white  folks!"  Mustard  replied. 
"I  ain't  got  no  bag  of  nothin'." 

Then  Mustard  saw  Colonel  Gaitskill.  "Bless 
gracious,  Marse  Tom!"  he  pleaded.  "Come  here 
and  fotch  me  away  from  dese  pesticatin'  white 
gemmans.  Dey  examinates  me  'bout  money  like  I 
done  sold  all  de  Nigger-Heel  cotton  'thout  turnin' 
in  de  tickets — " 

Colonel  Gaitskill  whispered  to  Flournoy. 

"Put  him  in  jail,  John,  and  after  the  crowd 
disperses,  we'll  slip  around  there  and  talk  to  him. " 

Flournoy  promptly  acted  upon  this  suggestion, 
and  on  the  way  picked  up  Pap  Curtain,  now 
restored  to  consciousness — Dr.  Shuttle  had  had 
better  luck  with  Pap — and  incarcerated  them  both. 

The  crowd  followed  and  watched  the  sheriff  until 
he  locked  the  two  negroes  behind  the  bars. 

"Nothing  more  doing  to-night,  friends,"  he 
announced  in  his  drawly  voice.  "We'll  all  go  to 
bed  and  discuss  the  matter  to-morrow.  Good 
night." 

He  walked  down  the  street  toward  his  home. 


144       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

The  crowd  gathered  in  little  groups,  talked  for  a 
few  minutes  and  dissolved. 

Colonel  Gaitskill  returned  to  the  store,  issued 
orders  to  his  clerks  concerning  the  disposition  of 
the  Skull's  body,  and  went  home. 

Just  at  daybreak  Sunday  morning,  Gaitskill  and 
Flournoy,  after  another  fruitless  search  for  the 
lost  money,  entered  the  jail. 

They  found  Mustard  and  Pap  Curtain  sitting 
side  by  side,  steeped  in  deepest  gloom.  Gaitskill 
became  the  spokesman: 

"Where  were  you  all  last  night,  Mustard?'* 

"I  wus  in  de  sto'-house,  Marse  Tom.  I  didn't 
leave  dat  place  a  minute  till  de  white  folks  tuck  me 
to  jail." 

"What  did  you  do  after  I  left?" 

"At  de  fust  offstartin',  I  et." 

"What  did  you  eat?"  Gaitskill  asked,  wonder 
ing  what  food  could  produce  slumber  as  profound 
as  Mustard  seemed  to  have  experienced. 

"  I  et  two  cans  of  sawdines,  an'  a  can  of  devilish 
ham,  an'  a  hunk  of  cheese. " 

"What  else?" 

"I  et  some  crackers  an*  some  beelony  sausage, 
an'  two  awanges,  an*  fo'  bananers,  an'  a  box  of 
candy." 

"What  else?" 

"Nothin'  else,  Marse  Tom.  Of  co'se,  I  kinder 
nibbled  aroun'  a  little.  I  foun'  some  raisins  an'  a 
diffunt  kind  of  cheese  whut  smelt  like  somepin 
dead  to  me,  an*  some  cakes  wid  white  icin'  on  de 
top,  an'  a  can  of  oystyers. " 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       145 

' '  Did  you  get  enough  to  satisfy  your  appetite  ? ' ' 

"Satisfy — oh,  yes,  suh,  I  felt  powerful  well 
fed." 

The  sheriff  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"No  use  to  cackle,  Mister  Johnnie.  I's  tellin' 
de  trufe.  I  shore  had  a  plenty. " 

"What  did  you  do  next?"  Gaitskill  inquired. 

"I  fotch  out  one  of  dem  long  Perique  seegaws 
an'  lit  up." 

Both  white  men  had  begun  to  laugh.  Mustard 
knew  there  was  no  harm  coming  to  a  negro  from 
white  men  with  the  giggles.  So  he  dismissed  his 
fears  and  became  expansive  in  his  remarks : 

"Dem  Perique  seegaw  stogies  ain't  as  good  as 
dey  looks,  Marse  Tom.  No  man  ain't  got  a  sucker 
in  his  mouf  strong  enough  to  make  'em  draw,  an' 
when  dey  does  draw,  no  man  ain't  got  no  corn- 
stitution  powerful  enough  to  stan'  de  smoke." 

"What  did  you  do  next,  Mustard?" 

"I  laid  down  on  dem  oat-sacks  an'  went  to 
sleep." 

Gaitskill  had  known  Mustard  so  long  that  he 
could  read  the  negro's  mind  like  a  book.  Al 
though  no  question  had  been  asked  about  the 
robbery,  he  was  sure  that  Mustard  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Then  he  began  to  explain  to 
Mustard : 

"Somebody  robbed  my  store  last  night,  Mus 
tard." 

"Lawdymussy,  Marse  Tom!  Bad  luck  is  shore 
kotch  you  by  de  forelock.  I's  powerful  sorry  to 
hear  dem  bad  news." 

10 


146       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

1 '  The  man  who  blew  open  the  safe  was  killed  in 
a  fight,  but  we  can't  find  the  bag  of  money," 
Gaitskill  continued. 

"Dar  now!"  Mustard  declared  with  unction. 
"Mo'  bad  luck!  It  'pears  like  it's  jes'  sorter  piled 
on  top  of  sorrer  in  dis  here  grief-strucken-down 
worl'.  I's  shore  sorry,  Marse  Tom — " 

''The  reason  I  wanted  you  to  sleep  in  that  store 
was  to  guard  that  safe. " 

"Hoi'  on  dar,  Marse  Tom,"  Mustard  said, 
coming  quickly  to  his  own  defense.  "You  didn't 
say  me  no  words  'bout  dat  safe.  All  you  said 
wus:  'I  want  you  to  sleep  in  dis  sto'  to-night.' 
Ain't  dat  so?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  suh,  I  done  it.  I  done  it  fur  a  fack. 
I  done  jes'  whut  you  tole  me.  I  sleeped  in  de 
sto'." 

"That's  a  fact,"  Flournoy  chuckled,  imitating 
the  negro's  mode  of  speech:  "Dat's  whut  he 
done!" 

"I'se  sorry,  Marse  Tom,"  Mustard  said,  "but  I 
ain't  to  blame." 

Sheriff  Flournoy  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Look  here,  Tom,"  he  said.  "If  we  are  going 
to  find  the  money,  we'd  better  let  this  sorry  son  of 
sorrow  skedaddle.  He  ain't  got  it. " 

Mustard  showed  that  he  favored  the  sheriff's 
suggestion  by  rising  to  his  feet  with  alacrity. 

"Mister  Sheriff  Johnnie — "  Pap  Curtain,  who 
had  been  a  silent  listener,  began  plaintively. 

"Shut  up,  Pap, "  the  sheriff  interrupted.  .  "You 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       147 

can  come,  too.  I  can't  keep  a  nigger  in  jail  for 
falling  down  and  bumping  his  head. " 

The  four  walked  out  of  the  jail  door  together. 
At  the  door  Mustard  asked: 

"Marse  Tom,  please,  suh,  dem  white  gemmans 
pestered  me  so  stout  las'  night  dat  I  couldn't  git 
my  hat  an'  my  cawnet-hawn  befo'  dey  tuck  me  to 
jail.  Will  you  open  de  sto'  so  I  kin  git  'em?" 

Consenting  to  this  request,  Gaitskill  opened  the 
door,  and  said: 

"Go  in  and  get  them,  Mustard." 

A  minute  later,  within  the  store,  there  was  a 
loud  whoop  and  a  wailing  cry: 

"Oo-oo-ee!  Oh,  my  blessid  gracious  goodness! 
He'p,  Marse  Tom,  fer  Gawd's  sake!" 

The  two  white  men  ran  into  the  store  and  found 
Prophet  down  upon  his  knees,  hiding  the  horror 
before  him  by  shielding  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
which  was  the  still  form  of  Slatey  the  Skull  out 
stretched  upon  a  cooling-board  in  the  office. 

Mustard  had  found  his  hat  near  his  pallet  of 
oat-sacks,  but  his  beloved  cornet  was  on  top  of  a 
desk  in  the  office. 

"Get  up,  Mustard,"  Gaitskill  commanded, 
striking  him  with  his  foot.  "This  is  the  man  who 
blew  open  the  safe. " 

The  big-hearted,  giant-bodied  sheriff  gazed  upon 
the  criminal,  then  stepped  over  and  felt  the 
emaciated  hands  and  arms. 

"He  was  as  frail  as  a  girl,  Tom, "  he  said,  with  a 
note  of  pity  in  his  voice.  "But  he  fought  like  a 
snake.  I  simply  had  to  crush  him. " 


148       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"Oh,  lawdymussy,  take  me  away  from  dis  here 
terr'ble  place!"  Mustard  bawled,  kneeling  before 
the  broken  office  safe  as  before  an  altar. 

Handing  the  negro  his  cornet,  Gaitskill  made 
him  rise,  and  followed  him  to  the  door,  where  Pap 
Curtain  stood  pop-eyed  and  trembling. 

"Marse  Tom,"  Mustard  quavered,  "Fs  gwine 
leave  dis  land  of  sorrer.  I  ain't  never  comin'  back 
no  mo'  escusin'  you  come  atter  me  an*  fotch  me 
back." 

"Me,  too!"  Pap  Curtain  piped. 

The  two  white  men  watched  the  progress  of  the 
two  negroes  as  they  hastened  down  the  street. 

"Mustard  didn't  have  a  thing  to  do  with  it," 
Flournoy  said. 

Gaitskill  nodded  his  assent. 


IV 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  KERLERAC 

"Marse  Tom  say  I  warn't  to  blame  and  Sheriff 
Flournoy  turned  me  loose.  But  dem  white  gem- 
mans  whut  kicked  me  an'  blimblammed  me  in  de 
sto'house  las'  night  ain't  say  nofhin\  Mebbe 
dey's  gwine  hang  me  yit.  I  dunno.  I  ain't 
gwine  be  aroun'  handy  till  dey  gits  deir  minds 
settled  dat  they  ain't,"  Mustard  Prophet  de 
clared. 

"Ef  dey  finds  out  dat  you  and  me  wus  bofe  in 
dat  house  stuffin'  ourse'ves  wid  vittles,  dey'll  take 
a  notion  dat  dey  am, "  Pap  Curtain  asserted. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       149 

"I's  done  heerd  de  call  of  de  migrashun  nigger, 
Pap, "  Mustard  said  mournfully. 

"Go  wid  me  to  my  cabin  an*  lemme  git  my 
trombone-hawn, "  Pap  replied.  "Den  I'll  mosey 
wid  you." 

The  two  spent  the  day  under  the  willows  on  the 
banks  of  the  Dorfoche  Bayou,  lamenting  their 
luck. 

'Tap,"  Mustard  said,  "de  good  Book  say  dat 
troubles  is  seasoning.  Pussimmons  ain't  good 
till  dey's  fros'-bit.  But  it  'pears  to  me  like  I  done 
had  my  sheer  of  sorrer. " 

"Me,  too,"  Pap  agreed.  "Now  I  argufies  dat 
de  only  fitten  occupation  for  a  sorrowful  man  is 
fishin'.  Less  go  ketch  some  grasshoppers  and  see 
kin  we  land  a  few  trouts. " 

"All  right,"  Mustard  said.  "But  I  favors 
fishin'  to'rds  de  railroad  bridge,  because  we's  gwine 
ketch  de  souf-boun'  freight. " 

Just  at  dark,  the  whistle  of  the  freight  train 
screeched  for  the  Dorfoche  crossing.  Mustard 
and  Pap  tossed  their  poles  into  the  middle  of  the 
stream  and  ten  minutes  later  were  aboard  an  empty 
freight  car,  nursing  their  musical  instruments  in 
their  laps,  bound  for  an  unknown  destination. 

The  fact  that  the  side  door  of  the  car  which 
they  had  caught  was  open  would  have  published 
to  an  experienced  traveler  that  that  particular  car 
was  not  going  very  far. 

When  Mustard  and  Pap  woke  up,  they  thought 
at  first  that  the  train  had  stopped. 

Then  peeping  out  cautiously,  they  ascertained 


150       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

that  the  engine  had  sidetracked  their  car  and  gone 
on.  Finding  themselves  in  the  middle  of  an 
immense  sugar  plantation,  they  climbed  on  top  of 
the  car  to  reconnoiter. 

Their  first  familiar  sight  was  a  broad,  muddy 
river. 

"Bar  now!"  Pap  exulted.  "Dat's  ole  Massa- 
sap.  Home's  up  de  ribber." 

"I  bet  dis  here  plantation  ain't  fur  from  some 
town,"  Mustard  reasoned.  "Less  hoof  it  up  de 
river  an'  see  kin  we  find  some  place  whut  ain't  so 
lonesome." 

Picking  up  their  musical  instruments,  they 
walked  to  the  levee  and  turned  upstream. 

"I  smells  Tickfall, "  Mustard  muttered,  sniffing 
the  air.  "Tain't  no  matter  how  fur  it  is,  dis  river 
goes  past  it." 

"I  hopes  Tickfall  ain't  smellin'  us, "~  Pap 
declared.  ' '  I's  got  it  proned  into  me  dat  we  made 
a  good  riddunce  outen  dat  place." 

Two  miles  up  the  levee  and  around  a  bend  in  the 
river,  they  came  to  a  little  town  squatting  like  a 
bullfrog  under  the  protection  levee,  its  gutters 
running  constantly  with  the  seepage  water  from 
the  dike,  its  few  houses  clothed  in  river  fog  and 
standing  on  high  foundations  like  stilts,  the  paint 
upon  them  cracking  and  their  eaves  dripping  with 
moisture. 

"Dis  here  town  looks  like  a  spindle-shanked 
crane,"  Mustard  declared  in  disgust.  "Dem 
legs  under  dem  houses  is  shore  fixed  fer  wadin'. " 

Then    a   prominent  building   came  into  view, 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       151 

and  Pap  Curtain  stopped  like  a  man  turned  to 
stone. 

"I  knows  dis  here  town, "  Pap  declared.  "Dey 
calls  it  Kerlerac. " 

"How  fur  from  Tickfall?"  Mustard  inquired. 

"Thutymile." 

"Come  on,  den.     Less  meet  deir  'quaintance. " 

' '  Naw,  suh! ' '  Pap  protested.  ' '  You  see  dat  high 
buildin'  over  dar?  Two  nigger  womans  helt  me 
up  in  front  of  dat  Red  El'phunt  s'loon  an'  robbed 
me  of  a  dollar  an'  fo'  bits.  One  of  'em  helt  a  razor 
at  my  neck,  an'  de  yuther  tuck  my  loose  change.  " 

"Dat  don't  make  no  diffunce, "  argued  Mustard. 
"Dey  ain't  dar  now." 

"I  reckin  not!"  Pap  said  positively.  "I  kotch 
'em  when  dey  wusn't  lookin'  and  helt  'em  by  deir 
hair  and  bumped  deir  heads  togedder!  An' 
what  you  reckin  dem  womans  done?  Dey  paid  a 
white  lawyer  my  own  good  money  to  git  me  in  a 
lawsuit  wid  de  cote-house,  an'  dey  put  me  in  de 
chain-gang  fer  six  mont's. " 

' '  Hear  dat,  now ! ' '  Mustard  exclaimed.  ' '  Bad 
luck!" 

"Shore  wus.  But  I  didn't  stay  dar  no  time.  I 
lef  dat  chain-gang  in  fo'  days.  Dat's  how  come 
I  ain't  so  glad  to  see  dis  town  agin,"  Pap  said. 
Then  after  a  moment's  thought,  he  suggested:  "I 
tells  you  how  to  do,  Mustard.  You  take  yo' 
cawnet-hawn  an'  go  out  an'  pick  de  town. " 

"Pick  it?" 

"Stop  on  all  de  cornders,  play  'em  a  toon,  den 
pass  de  hat,"  Pap  explained.  "I'll  set  down  here 


152       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

an'  res'  my  mind  till  you  gits  a  little  money,  an* 
in  de  nex'  town  we  goes  to  I'll  do  de  pickin'. " 

So  Mustard  walked  up  the  levee  toward  the 
town  alone. 

In  the  Red  Elephant  saloon,  he  said  to  the  bar 
tender: 

''Mister,  dese  here  white  genmans  need  wakin' 
up  dis  mawnin'.  Lemme  toot  a  toon  or  two?" 

"Crack  away,  nigger. " 

A  few  experimental  strains  issued  from  the  cornet, 
followed  by  a  high,  piercing  note;  then  Mustard 
started  the  music  of  a  song  everywhere  dear  to  the 
heart  of  the  Mississippi  River  negro : 

Oh,  honey,  when  you  hear  dat  roan  mule  whicker; 
When  you  see  Mr.  Sun  turnin'  pale  an'  gittin'  sicker 
Den  it's  time  fer  to  handle  dis  job  a  little  quicker 
Ef  you  wanter  git  a  smell  of  de  boss-man's  jug  of 

licker. 

Git  up  an'  move  aroun' !     Set  dem  han's  to  swingin' 
Befo'   de  boss-man  comes  aroun'   a  dangin'  an*  a 

dingin'. 
Git  up  an'  shout  aloud !    Let  de  white  folks  hear  you 

singin' — 
Hey !     0 — Hi — 0 !     Hear  dem  voices  ringin ' ! 

All  the  morning  in  various  sections  of  the  town 
Pap  Curtain,  hiding  under  the  levee,  could  hear 
the  strains  of  Mustard's  cornet. 

Just  at  noon,  Mustard  came  back,  walking 
slowly,  his  good-natured  face  burdened  with  grief 
and  disappointment,  his  defeat  and  dejection 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       153 

revealed  even  by  the  dragging  of  his  ponderous 
feet. 

"Whut  ails  you,  Mustard?*'  Pap  inquired  so 
licitously. 

"I'm  a  son  of  sorrer,  Pap,"  Mustard  wailed. 
"Nobody  but  de  good  Marster  kin  'predate  what 
bad  luck  I's  had." 

' '  Whut  come  to  pass  ? ' '  Pap  inquired  with  interest. 

"At  de  fust  offstartin'  I  bio  wed  my  hawn  in  de 
Red  El'phant  till  de  white  folks  gimme  a  dollar, 
all  in  nickles  and  dimes.  Den  a  white  man  follered 
me  out  when  I  lef  an'  tole  me  ef  I  would  loant  him 
dat  money  he  would  show  me  how  to  make  it 
disappear. 

"Of  co'se,  I  loant  it  to  him,  an*  he  put  it  in  his 
pocket  an'  said  escuse  him  a  minute,  an'  he  went 
away  an'  I  ain't  seed  dat  white  man  sence  dat 
time." 

Pap  Curtain  gazed  at  Mustard  with  an  expres 
sion  of  mingled  pity  and  disgust.  Mustard  con 
tinued  his  tale  of  woe : 

"Two  white  kunnels  gimme  fo'  bits  apiece  to 
play  Dixie  fer  'em.  I  had  dat  money  changed 
over  to  a  paper  dollar  so  it  wouldn't  roll  away  like 
de  yuther  dollar  done.  Den  anodder  white  man 
come  along  an'  say  ef  I  gib  him  dat  paper  dollar 
he'd  show  me  how  to  double  it. 

"Of  co'se,  I  needed  it  doubled  right  quick  be 
cause  I  wus  already  behine  one  dollar,  so  I  loant 
it  to  him  to  double  it.  He  jes'  folded  it  over  one 
time;  den  he  shet  one  eye  at  me  an'  stuck  my  dollar 
down  in  his  pocket. " 


154       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

" Didn't  you  ax  him  to  give  it  back?"  Curtain 
asked. 

"Naw,  suh,  dat  was  a  powerful  brave-lookin' 
man  an'  he  acted  like  he  mought  'a '  fought  a  saw 
mill  ef  he  wus  peeved  up. " 

11  Mustard,  you  is  a  plum*,  nachel-bawn,  stark- 
naked  fool, "  Pap  informed  him. 

"I  agrees  wid  dem  sentiments,"  Mustard  said 
sorrowfully.  "Lawdy,  my  foots  shore  hurts  me 
scandalous.  Lemme  set  down. " 

"Ain't  you  got  no  money  a-tall?"  Pap  inquired 
peevishly. 

"Naw,"  Mustard  informed  him. 

"Is  you  had  anything  to  eat?" 

"Naw, "  Mustard  lamented.  "An'  I's  so  hun 
gry  I  could  eat  a  houn'-dog  biled  in  soap  grease. " 

The  two  sat  for  a  moment,  looking  out  at  the 
river.  Then  Mustard  suggested: 

"You  go  out  an'  try  'em  a  few  toons,  Pap.  I 
axed  eve'ybody  I  met  ef  dey  knowed  a  nigger 
named  you,  an'  dey  said  dey  didn't." 

V 
TROUBLE'S  TWIN. 

All  the  afternoon  Pap  Curtain  played  trombone 
solos  on  the  streets  of  Kerlerac  while  Mustard 
Prophet  rested  his  feet. 

About  four  o'clock  Mustard  and  Pap  slipped 
into  a  negro  eating-house  and  ordered  food. 

"Whar  you  cullud  pussons  come  from?"  Smart 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       155 

Durret,  the  negro  restaurant  keeper,  inquired  as 
his  patrons  consumed  large  quantities  of  fried  cat 
fish. 

"We  stays  at  Tickfall, "  Mustard  answered. 

"When  did  you-alls  arrive  down?" 

"We  come  dis  mawnin',"  Pap  responded. 

At  this  point  another  occupant  of  the  restaurant 
rose  from  a  table  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  gesticu 
lated  mysteriously  and  forcibly  to  Smart  Durret 
and  went  out  of  a  rear  door  into  the  kitchen.  The 
mulatto  proprietor  followed. 

"Don't  ax  so  many  questions,  Smart,"  was  the 
prompt  advice  of  the  little  negro  to  the  mulatto. 
"I  wucks  fer  Sheriff  Ulloa,  an'  I  heard  tell  dis 
mawnin'  dat  somebody  robbed  a  sto'  in  Tickfall 
an'  dey's  offered  a  hunderd-dollar  reward-bill  fer 
who  done  it." 

Smart  Durret 's  mud-colored  eyes  opened  wide. 

"Dat  sto'  was  robbed  Saddy  night,"  the  little 
negro  continued.  ' '  Dem  two  coons  come  to  town 
dis  mawnin'  early.  Dey  been  takin'  turns  hidin' 
on  de  yuther  side  of  de  levee  all  day.  Dem  niggers 
is  shore  it." 

"Is  you  gwine  tell  de  sheriff,  Solly?"  the  mu 
latto  asked. 

' '  Naw, ' '  Solly  exclaimed  in  disgusted  tones.  ' '  I 
figgers  dat  you  an'  me  kin  kotch  'em  out  alone, 
arrest  'em  ourse'ves  an'  Vide  up  de  reward-bill 


even. ' 


"Dat's  de  music!"  Smart  exclaimed,  admir 
ingly.  "You  keep  track  of  'em  an'  you  an'  me'll 
git  togedder  on  it  to-night. " 


156       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

Thus  advised,  Solly  Saddler,  amateur  detective, 
shadowed  Mustard  Prophet  and  Pap  Curtain  all 
the  afternoon  and  when  darkness  came  was  pre 
pared  to  report  their  location  to  Smart  Durret. 

"Now,  Solly/'  Smart  advised,  "we  ain't  got  no 
permit  to  'rest  dese  niggers  accawdin'  to  de  law. 
So  I  argufies  dat  de  best  way  to  do  is  to  git  in  a 
fight  wid  'em,  sen'  somebody  fer  de  cornstable,  an' 
let  him  tote  us  all  to  jail.  Den  we  kin  esplain  to  de 
sheriff  whut  we  knows,  an'  he'll  let  us  out  because 
you're  a  frien'  of  his'n. " 

"Smart,"  Solly  exclaimed,  "when  yo'  mind 
goes  off  it  kicks  like  a  muzzle-loader.  Dat  plan '11 
hit  de  bull's-eye.  But  ef  you  ain't  got  no  objec 
tions,  I'll  be  de  one  whut  goes  atter  de  corn- 
stable.  Dem  two  coons  looks  powerful  perilous 
tome." 

"All  right,"  Smart  acquiesced  reluctantly. 
"But  don't  you  lose  no  time  gittin'  dat  cornstable. 
I  'speck  you  better  fetch  de  sheriff,  too. " 

They  separated  to  meet  an  hour  later  in  the 
Chicken- Wing  saloon,  a  negro  resort  where  Mus 
tard  and  Pap  were  loudly  advertising  their  pre 
sence  by  playing  duets. 

The  plan  of  the  two  conspirators  to  start  trouble 
was  simple  but  effective. 

Solly  Saddler  entered  the  place  with  a  bucket  of 
red  paint  and  a  broad  paint-brush.  Smart  Durret 
came  in  with  a  large  bottle  filled  with  a  foamy, 
milk-colored  liquid — soap-suds. 

The  two  avoided  each  other  for  a  time,  then 
they  got  together. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       157 

"Whut's  dat  you  got  in  dat  bottle,  Smart?" 
Solly  inquired  in  a  nigger-minstrel  tone. 

"Dis  here  is  a  new  kind  of  cleaner  fer  clothes, " 
Smart  answered.  "It  takes  all  de  dirt  spots, 
grease  spots,  fade  spots,  an'  paint  spots  offen 
clothes,  suits,  dresses,  an'  sich  like." 

"Dat  stuff  won't  conjure  loose  no  paint  spots,  " 
Solly  argued,  flourishing  the  bucket  of  paint  at 
Smart. 

"I  bet  yer  fo'  bits,"  Smart  answered  promptly. 

Then  followed  a  heated  discussion  of  the  merits 
of  the  paint  remover.  The  crowd  slowly  gathered 
around  the  disputants,  and  Solly  gradually  worked 
his  way  around  until  he  stood  directly  in  front  of 
Mustard  Prophet. 

Setting  the  bucket  of  paint  on  the  floor  and 
stooping  over  it,  he  began  to  stir  it  with  his  brush 
while  the  argument  waxed  hotter  and  hotter. 
Then  Solly  arose,  with  the  dripping  paint-brush  in 
his  hand. 

Then  with  a  quick  turn  and  flourish,  he  swiped 
the  dripping  paint-brush  up  and  down  the  front  of 
Mustard  Prophet's  clothes. 

"Now,  nigger  Durret, "  Solly  bawled  dramati 
cally,  "lemme  see  you  take  de  paint  off  dis  cullud 
brudder's  coat!" 

Mustard  reeled  backward  to  escape  the  paint,  a 
guffaw  of  loud  laughter  swept  around  the  circle, 
and  Solly  followed  Mustard,  still  busy  plying  the 
brush. 

Mustard  was  a  sight. 

Then  Mustard  got  busy.     Solly  felt  a  hard  hand 


158       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

on  the  back  of  his  neck,  lost  his  grip  on  the  brush, 
and  Mustard  caught  it. 

Irresistibly,  Mustard  led  the  struggling  negro 
back  to  the  red  paint,  held  him  there  as  easily  as  a 
man  can  hold  a  wiggling  fish  suspended  from  a 
hook,  and  proceeded  to  paint  him  red,  frescoing 
both  the  garments  and  the  man  within  them. 

Solly  bawled  and  shrieked  and  struggled  and  bit, 
but  Mustard  did  not  release  him  until  the  bucket 
was  exhausted  of  paint. 

Solly,  too,  was  a  sight. 

Then  Smart  Durret  entered  the  fracas.  Seizing 
his  bottle  of  magic  cleanser  by  the  neck  and  manip 
ulating  it  like  a  club,  he  struck  it  over  the  dome 
of  Prophet's  head. 

But  the  soapy  neck  of  the  bottle  was  slick  and 
slipped  from  Durret 's  hand,  bounced  from  the 
armor-plated  skull  of  Mustard  Prophet  like  a  rub 
ber  ball,  and  was  smashed  to  fragments  halfway 
across  the  room. 

Pap  Curtain,  in  his  turn,  came  to  the  aid  of  his 
friend.  Picking  up  the  paint -bucket  with  a  circu 
lar  motion  of  his  long  arm,  he  brought  it  down 
upon  the  head  of  Smart  Durret.  The  bucket  did 
not  bounce,  but  Durret  did. 

Deciding  it  was  high  time  to  go  for  the  constable 
and  the  sheriff,  Solly  departed  with  expedition, 
deeply  regretting  that  the  State  militia  and  the 
Federal  army  were  not  available  in  this  hour  of 
need. 

But  Smart  and  Solly  had  loyal  friends,  and  in  a 
moment  Mustard  and  Pap  stood  with  their  backs 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

Mustard  proceeded  to  paint  him  red. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       159 

to  the  wall,  each  in  possession  of  a  heavy  chair, 
holding  it  like  a  lion-tamer  to  keep  the  crowd  from 
rushing  them. 

"Don't  scrouge,  niggers!"  Mustard  bawled,  as 
he  held  his  chair  poised  for  battle.  "I  done  kilt 
so  many  coons  I  can't  count  'em.  A  feather  fell 
from  a  buzzard's  wing  an'  hit  me  on  de  head  when 
I  wus  little,  which  am  a  sign  dat  my  path  is  crossed 
wid  dead  men.  Come  right  on  an'  git  your'n!" 

Then  for  a  minute  Mustard  and  Pap  were  the 
center  of  a  whirling  wheel  of  legs  and  arms  and 
hands  and  heads;  holding  their  chairs  before 
them  they  charged  through  the  ring  like  two 
angry  bears.  Men  doubled  up  before  them  and 
went  down  and  they  took  a  side-swipe  at  the  rest 
as  they  passed. 

They  had  reached  the  door  in  safety  and  were 
just  about  to  pass  through  when  the  door  was 
blocked  by  the  portly  form  of  the  town  constable. 

The  combatants  came  to  a  full  stop.  The  battle 
was  ended. 

"Dat's  dem,  Mister  Rogers!"  Solly  Saddler 
squealed,  as  he  pointed  out  Pap  and  Mustard. 
"Dey  wus  peckin'  on  me  an'  Smart  Durret. " 

"You  four  bucks  march  along  in  front  of  me," 
the  officer  announced  briefly.  "Go  to  jail." 

At  the  jail  door  Mustard  stopped  to  make  a  plea 
which  was  ably  seconded  by  the  others. 

"Please,  boss,  don't  put  us  togedder." 

"Naw, "  Solly  exclaimed  earnestly.  "Let  me 
an'  Smart  go  upstairs.  Lock  us  away  from  dem 
terr'ble  mens!" 


160       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"Go  upstairs,  then,''  Rogers  said. 

A  minute  later,  Pap  and  Mustard  stood  together 
behind  the  bars. 

"I  done  been  in  jail  two  times  in  two  days," 
Mustard  mourned.  "Sorrer's  done  kotch  me 
again." 

* '  Me,  too, ' '  Pap  lamented.  ' '  Bad  luck's  got  me 
by  de  lef  hind  leg  wid  a  downhill  pull!" 

"Same  back  at  you,  brudders!"  a  strange  voice 
from  the  darkness  in  tragic  tones.  "Fs  Trouble's 
twin!" 

Having  no  charge  against  the  four  negroes 
except  disorderly  conduct,  the  constable  had 
merely  separated  the  combatants,  allowing  each 
pair  the  freedom  of  the  entire  floor.  Mustard 
and  Pap  had  believed  that  they  were  alone  upon 
this  lower  floor  until  the  strange  voice  spoke. 

Their  hair  stood  up  in  superstitious  fear,  but 
the  voice  spoke  again : 

"Howdy,  brudders!" 

"Who  dat  talkin'  to  hisse'f?"  Mustard  asked  in 
frightened  tones.  "Whar  is  you  at?  Name  yo* 
name!" 

"Dey  calls  me  Mobile,"  the  stranger  confessed, 
coming  forward.  Then  he  proposed  in  a  whisper : 
1 '  Less  go  in  one  of  dese  little  cages  an'  set  an'  talk. " 

' '  Naw, ' '  Pap  replied  forcibly.  ' '  De  wind  might 
blow  dat  iron  do'  shet.  I  likes  de  outside." 

So,  instead,  the  three  groped  their  way  down 
the  corridor  and  sat  down  on  the  window-sill,  using 
the  grating  behind  them  as  a  rest  for  their  backs. 

"My  name  is  Mustard  Prophet." 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       161 

"I's  Pap  Curtain." 

"Huh, "  was  the  surprised  grunt  from  Mobile. 

"Which?"  Pap  and  Mustard  asked  in  duet. 

"Whar  you-alls  from?"  Mobile  asked. 

"Tickfall." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Whut  dey  got  you  in  fer?"  Mobile  asked  next. 

"A  nigger  painted  my  clothes  in  de  Chicken- 
Wing  an'  I  fit  him  to  a  finish, "  Mustard  chuckled. 
'Tap  helped." 

"Oo-ee,  brudders!"  Mobile  exclaimed  mourn 
fully.  ' '  I  bet  dey  gives  you  'bout  fo'teen  years  fer 
dat.  Dis  is  a  mean  town  to  niggers!  I  got  to  dis 
town  on  Sunday  mawnin',  and  got  drunk,  and  got 
in  a  rookus  in  de  Chicken- Wing,  an'  dey  put  me  in 
jail  befo'  dinner-time  an'  tuck  all  my  money  off 
me — an'  I  had  'bout  fifteen  cents!" 

"Dat's  too  bad,"  Mustard  sighed,  leaning  back 
against  the  grating  behind  him.  Then  he  sprang 
forward  suddenly  and  exclaimed:  "Looky  here, 
Mobile!  De  bars  on  dis  here  winder  is  plum' 
loose!" 

"Suttinly, "  Mobile  whispered. 

"How  come?" 

"I  sawed  on  'em  all  Sunday  atternoon,  an'  Sun 
day  night,  an'  all  to-day,  an'  a  leetle  bit  to-night, " 
Mobile  told  him. 

"You  ain't  figgerin'  to  git  out,  is  you?"  Mustard 
inquired  innocently. 

"Naw,  son!"  Mobile  denied  in  tones  which 
throbbed  with  disgust.  "I  jes'  wants  to  let  in  a 
leetle  mo'  fresh  air." 


162       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"Us  favors  mo'  fresh  air,  too,"  Pap  snickered. 

"I  done  got  'em  sawed  loose — mighty  nigh," 
Mobile  said.  "Dey's  sawed  plum'  across  on  de 
sides  an'  de  bottom,  but  dey  ain't  sawed  on  de 
top.  You  reckon  us-all  is  got  muscle  enough  to 
ketch  holt  dat  gratin'  an'  bend  her  in  or  shove  her 
out?" 

"Shorely!"  Mustard  asserted  eagerly.  "I  kin 
heft  a  bale  of  cotton  an'  tote  it  up  de  gang-plank  of 
a  steamboat." 

The  three  stood  up  in  the  window  with  their  feet 
resting  on  the  sill. 

They  stooped  and  caught  hold  of  the  grating  at 
the  lower  end,  and  leaning  backward,  they  lifted 
up  and  in.  Under  that  mighty  strain,  the  iron 
grating  attached  to  the  masonry  by  four  bars  at 
the  top  slowly  bent  -and  left  an  opening  under 
neath  large  enough  to  allow  their  bodies  to  pass 
through. 

The  three  lost  no  time  in  climbing  out.  They 
had  gone  around  to  the  front  of  the  jail  when 
Mustard  stopped. 

"Hoi'  on  dar,  Mobile,"  he  muttered.  "I  done 
ferget  my  cawnet-hawn  an'  lef  it  in  de  jail.  I 
needs  dat  hawn. " 

"Leave  it  be,"  Mobile  advised. 

"I  done  f ergot  my  trombone-hawn, "  Pap 
added.  "Go  back  an'  git  'em  fer  us,  Mustard." 

"Naw,"  Mobile  protested.  "I  got  plenty 
money.  I'll  pay  you  fer  'em. " 

' '  Naw, ' '  Mustard  rejoined  vehemently.  ' '  Marse 
Tom  gimme  dat  cawnet-hawn,  an'  he's  powerful 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       163 

proud  of  it.  He  say  he'd  know  de  sound  of  dat 
cawnet  in  Chinee." 

Their  argument  ended  right  there,  for  suddenly 
from  a  window  in  the  second  story  of  the  jail  two 
voices  screeched  like  a  calliope: 

"Murder-r!    He'p!    Come  here,  eve'ybody!" 

Yells  and  whoops  and  screams  and  wails  came 
from  Solly  and  Smart  who  realized  that  Mustard 
and  Pap  had  escaped  and  who  saw  the  reward  for 
their  capture  slipping  away,  leaving  themselves 
in  durance. 

At  the  first  screech,  Rogers,  the  constable,  who 
was  sitting  on  a  near-by  door-step,  ran  to  the 
jail  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  empty  his  pistol  at 
the  fleeing  forms  of  the  three  negroes  as  they  passed 
under  the  last  electric  street  light,  and  ran  onto 
the  protection  levee  at  the  river. 

Then  the  constable  hastened  back  to  the  jail 
and  became  the  recipient  of  some  surprising  mis 
information  from  the  wailing  negroes  in  the 
prison.  In  an  eager  antiphony,  they  recited  what 
they  knew,  snatching  the  sentences  from  each 
other's  lips: 

' '  Dem  two  niggers  whut  got  away  robbed  de  sto' 
at  Tickf all- 

"An'  kilt  dat  Mister  Skull  whut  owned  it " 

"De  feller  whut  blows  de  cawnet-hawn  done 
it " 

"He  brag  his  brags  dat  he  done  kilt  mo'  coons 
dan  he  kin  count 

"De  monkey-faced  tromboner  hid  behind  de 
levee  all  mawnin' " 


164       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"An*  de  cawnet-nigger  axed  eve'ybody  did  us 
know  de  tromboner  befo'  de  tromboner  would 
come  out 

"Ef  you  ketch  'em  agin,  Mister  Rogers,  does  us 
niggers  git  de  reward  bill?" 

Mister  Rogers,  accompanied  by  the  two  negroes, 
left  the  jail  in  a  trot  and  a  few  minutes  later  the 
constable  pounded  with  his  night-stick  on  the  front 
door  of  Sheriff  Ulloa's  home,  demanding  admit 
tance  on  most  important  business. 

VI 

IN  THE  MASSACRE   SWAMP. 

"We  goes  fo'  miles  up  dis  levee  to  de  Massacre 
swamp,  niggers,"  Mobile  panted,  as  he  ran. 
"Den  f oiler  de  hog-path  two  miles  to  de  ole  Ker- 
lerac  plantation  house.  I  knows  dis  country  like 
I  knows  de  insides  of  a  white  man's  hen-coop. 
Trot,  niggers,  trot!" 

When  the  Federal  soldiers  visited  the  State  of 
Louisiana  during  the  Civil  War,  they  carried  guns 
and  ammunition,  but  they  did  their  best  fighting 
and  won  their  greatest  victories  and  wrought 
their  most  extensive  devastation  with  water — 
muddy  river  water. 

Invading  the  State,  they  cut  the  levees  of  the 
Red,  Atchafalaya,  and  Mississippi  Rivers,  and 
then  let  the  snows  melting  on  the  loyal  northern 
hills  pour  their  floods  and  do  their  destructive 
work. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       165 

Because  of  this  method  of  warfare,  Louisiana 
was  the  last  State  to  begin  to  recover  from  the 
effects  of  the  Civil  War. 

Her  agricultural  enterprises  absolutely  require 
the  protection  of  the  river  levees;  prostrated 
financially,  the  State  had  no  money  to  rebuild 
when  peace  was  declared  what  war  had  destroyed. 

Mobile,  followed  by  Pap  Curtain  and  Mustard 
Prophet,  was  going  straight  to  a  spot  which  indi 
cated  after  half  a  century  one  of  the  effects  of  this 
mode  of  warfare. 

The  Kerlerac  plantation  house  was  a  three- 
story  building  erected  of  stone  conveyed,  literally, 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  for  the  building  ma 
terial  had  been  brought  as  ballast  in  the  sailing 
vessels  which  landed  with  empty  bottoms  at  the 
Kerlerac  plantation  to  receive  the  products  of  her 
soil. 

Yearly,  during  and  after  the  war,  the  June  floods 
had  swept  across  that  plantation,  the  water  stand 
ing  from  four  to  forty  feet  deep  above  every  inch 
of  its  soil. 

The  old  plantation  house,  surrounded  by  its 
stately  lawns  and  shaded  by  its  colossal  evergreen 
oaks,  was  abandoned,  and  now  after  sixty  years  the 
stone  ruins  stood  in  the  midst  of  an  almost  impene 
trable  swamp  and  cypress  trees  nearly  as  large 
around  as  a  man's  body  grew  in  the  center  of  the 
building,  their  branches  protruding  above  where 
the  roof  had  been. 

The  first  gray  streaks  of  dawn  showed  in  the 
sky  when  Mobile  led  his  panting  and  exhausted 


166       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

followers  between  the  walls  of  this  old  house  and 
allowed  them  a  moment's  rest. 

"Don't  take  too  long  to  blow,  brudders!" 
Mobile  warned  them,  his  own  tongue  hanging  out 
like  a  hot  dog's,  his  mouth  spread  wide,  showing 
a  gold  front  tooth.  "Ef  de  white  folks  f oilers  us, 
dey'll  come  right  straight  to  dis  here  house  an'  start 
deir  hunt  from  here.  I  knows  'em!" 

"Whut  you  fetch  us  here  fer,  den?"  Pap  Cur 
tain  inquired  indignantly. 

"Us  niggers  is  got  to  hab  some  money, "  Mobile 
informed  him,  "an'  I  knows  whar  a  white  man  has 
hid  some.  Less  git  it,  an'  'vide  up,  an'  scoot!" 

He  walked  through  the  briars  and  underbrush, 
stumbling  among  the  fallen  stones,  to  a  certain 
corner;  then  motioning  for  silence,  he  listened. 

"Dat  mought  be  wind,"  he  muttered  uneasily. 
"Den  again,  it  mought  be  a  steamboat  puffin'  up 
de  river.  Den,  agin,  it  moughtn't. " 

Raising  a  large  stone,  he  kicked  at  the  dirt  under 
neath,  then  suddenly  ceased  his  operations  and 
listened. 

Then  in  the  dim  light  his  face  became  ashen, 
turning  a  scar  upon  his  cheek  white,  and  his  heart 
thumped  like  a  drum.  He  let  the  rock  fall  back 
upon  the  treasure,  and  motioned  to  Pap  and  Mus 
tard  to  follow,  leading  them  four  times  around  the 
walls  and  crisscross  through  the  center  and  then 
back  to  the  entrance. 

"Listen,  niggers!"  Mobile  chattered.  "My 
Gawd,  listen!" 

Far  across  the  swamp  they  could  hear  distinctly 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       167 

a  steady  repetition  of  three  short  sounds  followed 
by  a  long,  lowing  bellow  like  a  bull:  "Ow,  ow,  ow! 
0  o-oo-oo-o  !" 

"Whut's  dat?"  Mustard  asked. 

" Nigger  dogs!"  Mobile  cried  with  a  voice  like  a 
sob.  '  'Bloodhounds  ! ' ' 

An  uncontrollable  sobbing  seized  the  negro  and 
his  fright  was  pitiable.  Mustard  and  Pap,  having 
no  experience  with  such  dogs,  looked  at  him  uncom- 
prehendingly. 

Finally,  Mobile  dropped  to  the  ground  and 
listened.  Then  rising,  he  announced: 

"A  whole  pack,  niggers — dogs  an'  men!  We'll 
never  git  outen  dis  swamp  alive — dem  dam' 
dogs  '11  gnaw  our  bones!  Come  on,  less  see  kin 
we  make  it  to  de  Massacre  Bayou!" 

They  started  on  a  straight  line,  running  side  by 
side. 

Then  within  a  hundred  yards  they  faced  a  slough 
as  large  as  a  lake,  no  one  knew  how  deep  with  mud 
and  water.  Taking  a  long  detour  around  this, 
they  looked  back  and  in  two  miles  of  running, 
still  found  themselves  in  plain  sight  of  the  Kerlerac 
plantation  house. 

"Dat's  de  las'  big  puddle,  niggers,"  Mobile  in 
formed  them.  ''Now  go  straight  an'  wade  eve'y- 
thing  you  come  to!" 

The  ingenuity  of  the  Spanish  inquisition  devised 
no  tortures  comparable  to  the  possibilities  of  pain 
arising  from  a  forced  flight  through  a  Louisiana 
jungle. 

A  vine  trailing  the  ground  for  hundreds  of  yards 


i68       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

in  some  mysterious  manner  wraps  three  times 
around  a  man's  leg,  trips  him,  and  leaves  him  to 
struggle  with  a  bond  which  he  cannot  unwrap, 
cannot  break,  and  cannot  cut  with  a  sharp  pocket- 
knife. 

Wild  rose  vines  with  thorns  like  spear-points  and 
barbed  like  a  fishhook  snag  the  garments  and  the 
skin,  and,  like  Shylock,  demand  their  pound  of 
flesh.  Hidden  in  every  puddle  of  water,  the  hard, 
sharp  cypress  knees  lie  ambushed  in  the  mud  like 
bayonets  to  impale  anything  which  falls  upon 
them. 

Overhead,  thorn-armed  vines  and  the  drooping 
branches  of  the  dreadful  prickly  ash  hang  down  to 
retard  man's  progress  and  augument  his  anguish. 

In  every  damp  spot  the  deadly  moccasin  lurks; 
by  every  decayed  stump  and  root  the  venomous 
cottonmouth  guards  its  den;  insects  thrashed  up 
by  the  agitation  of  the  grass  and  weeds  rise  like  an 
Egyptian  plague  and  blind  the  eyes  and  fill  the 
nostrils  and  choke  the  throat. 

And  through  it  all,  mud  which  bogs  the  runner 
to  his  kneeS ;  at  every  twenty  steps  a  pool  of  water 
and  mire,  which  may  be  shallow  enough  for  a 
sparrow  to  wade  without  wetting  his  feathers,  or 
as  deep  as  a  well;  and  poison  ivy,  growing  waist 
high,  saturating  man's  garments  with  its  vitriol 
juices,  and  burning  the  flesh  as  if  the  runner  were 
wading  in  a  caldron  of  boiling  oil ! 

But  the  pursuing  dog  slips  unhindered  through 
the  jungle,  runs  unmired  through  the  mud,  swims 
the  pools  of  water,  and  stands  howling  under- 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       169 

neath  the  tree  where  the  fugitive  has  climbed  to 
escape  the  canine's  tearing  teeth. 

In  half  an  hour  the  negroes,  scratched,  torn, 
snagged,  wounded,  bleeding,  mud-covered,  half- 
naked,  looking  more  like  wild  beasts  than  men, 
stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Massacre  Bayou.  Forty 
yards  behind  them  a  pack  of  ravening  dogs  bayed 
a  red-hot  trail. 

"Swim  it!"  Mobile  panted.  "Git  across  dis 
creek,  fer  Gawd's  sake!" 

They  leaped  into  the  stream  and  dragged  their 
exhausted  bodies  up  the  opposite  bank  just  as  the 
raging  dogs  stopped  at  the  water's  edge  on  the 
bank  they  had  just  left. 

Mobile  ran  to  a  hickory  sapling  as  large  around 
as  his  arm. 

"He'p  me  break  dis  off,  men,"  he  screamed. 
"We  got  to  fight  'em!" 

With  the  strength  of  desperation,  the  three  men 
wrenched  at  the  sapling,  snapped  it  off  at  the 
roots,  broke  it  in  a  proper  length  for  a  club,  and 
as  quickly  as  possible  selected  and  prepared  two 
others  like  it. 

"Look  out,  niggers!"  Mobile  howled.  "Dey's 
gittin'  ready  to  swim  across!  Kill  eve'y  dog  as 
quick  as  his  front  feet  touches  the  land  on  dis  side. 
Whatever  happens,  git  dem  big,  black,  long-eared 
debbilsfust!" 

While  he  was  speaking  two  of  the  bloodhounds 
leaped  from  the  bank  and  came  toward  them, 
swerving  not  an  inch  before  the  threatening  clubs. 

Mobile  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  water  and 


170       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

stood  poised  to  strike,  his  crazed  eyes  glaring  at 
one  of  the  swimming  dogs,  the  features  of  his  face 
quivering  with  spasms  of  pain  and  exhaustion. 
Then  the  hickory  descended,  and  the  immense  dog 
sank  under  the  water  with  a  startled  grunt. 

Mobile  and  Pap  both  ministered  to  the  other 
bloodhound  which  followed  its  mate  to  the  bottom 
of  the  bayou. 

Then  the  whole  pack,  deer-dogs,  fox -hounds,  hog- 
dogs,  and  mongrels,  making  the  swamp  hideous 
with  their  howls  and  yelps,  sprang  into  the  stream. 

The  three  negroes  ran  up  and  down  the  bank 
of  the  stream,  striking  with  weary  arms,  kicking 
with  feet  as  heavy  as  lead,  sobbing,  praying,  curs 
ing,  raving — adding  their  insane  voices  to  the 
noise  of  the  hounds,  making  pandemonium  of  the 
silent,  shadowy  swamp. 

At  last  the  hound-pack,  wearied  by  swimming 
and  unable  to  effect  a  landing,  turned  back  to  the 
opposite  shore  in  defeat. 

"Saved!"  Mobile  sobbed.  "Now,  niggers,  trot 
down  this  here  bayou  till  we  git  to  de  public  road ! ' ' 

Ten  minutes  later,  they  fell  in  the  dust  of  the 
public  highway  like  monstrous  worms  or  rather 
like  raw,  skinned  cattle  divested  of  their  hides 
and  their  carcasses  left  as  food  for  the  carrion 
crows. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  were  motionless,  lying 
like  dead  men ;  then  a  consciousness  of  approaching 
danger  roused  them  to  renew  their  flight. 

Rising  totteringly  to  their  feet,  they  breathed 
deeply,  and  started.  Then  all  hope  died. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       171 

'  'From  out  of  the  high  weeds  on  the  side  of  the 
road,  a  deep-seamed,  weather-tanned  Spanish  face 
appeared,  and  two  fearless  eyes  held  the  gaze  of 
the  helpless  negroes  like  a  hypnotist. 

"You  niggers  stop  right  there!"  a  quiet  voice 
said. 

It  was  Sheriff  Ulloa,  who  knew  the  route  of 
fugitive  criminals,  and  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
guard  the  only  outlet  from  the  Massacre  Swamp. 

"Please,  suh,  boss,  save  us,  "  the  negroes  sobbed 
in  a  chorus. 

11  AIL  right,"  the  sheriff  said  grimly.  "Trot 
right  down  the  center  of  this  road  and  go  back  to 
the  jail  you  got  out  of. " 

VII 

"GON'ER  GIT  THEM  NIGGERS!" 

Just  at  noon  the  three  negroes  stumbled  through 
the  door  of  the  jail,  and  like  men  walking  in  their 
sleep,  obeyed  the  command  of  the  sheriff  and 
climbed  the  steps  to  the  second  story.  There 
they  fell  to  the  floor  and  sank  into  unconsciousness. 

The  sheriff  closed  the  jail  door  and  sat  down 
on  the  steps  in  front,  where  he  gave  himself  up  to 
most  serious  thought.  Almost  an  hour  later  he 
arose,  reentered  the  jail,  and  returning  to  his 
three  prisoners  picked  out  Mobile  Boone  and 
kicked  him  into  wakefulness. 

"Get  up,  Mobile,"  he  commanded.  "Follow 
me  downstairs." 


172       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

Dumbly,  the  negro  obeyed.  On  the  ground 
floor  the  sheriff  stopped  and  spoke: 

"Mobile,  what  are  you  in  here  for?" 

"I  got  drunk  in  de  Chicken-Wing  an'  tried  to 
claw  a  nigger's  nose  off." 

"Were  you  arrested  with  those  other  two 
negroes?" 

"Naw,  suh.  Dey  fetch  me  to  de  calaboose 
on  Sunday  mawnin'  an'  dem  two  coons  come  in 
late  Sunday  night.  I  never  seed  ary  one  of  'em 
befo'." 

"If  I  let  you  out  will  you  leave  town  right 
away?" 

"Bless  gracious,  boss,"  Mobile  exclaimed  with 
most  obvious  sincerity,  "ef  you  lets  me  outen 
dis  jail,  I'll  put  dis  town  so  fur  behine  me  back 
dat  it'll  cost  you  ninety-seben  dollars  to  send  me 
a  postich  card." 

The  sheriff  laughed. 

"I  means  it,  boss,"  Mobile  assured  him.  "Jes 
gimme  a  shirt  an'  a  pair  of  britches  so  I  won't  look 
like  I  was  jes'  bawned,  an'  I'll  shore  ax  you  good- 
by!" 

The  sheriff  led  the  negro  across  to  the  office  in 
the  court-house,  opened  a  closet,  pawed  over  some 
old  hunting  clothes,  and  found  some  suitable  gar 
ments  for  Mobile.  When  the  negro  had  put  them 
on,  the  sheriff  handed  him  a  silver  dollar  and  said : 

"Now,  Mobile,  I've  let  you  out  because  the 
chances  are  those  other  two  negroes  are  going  to  be 
mobbed.  You  are  innocent  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  you  strung  up.  You'd  better  hit  the  grit!" 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       173 

Mobile  did.  He  went  down  the  levee  at  a  gait 
which  bid  fair  to  carry  him  very  far  in  a  brief  time 
—if  he  could  keep  it  up. 

Then  the  sheriff  returned  to  the  jail  and  sat 
down  in  the  same  place. 

The  town  of  Kerlerac  was  deserted  except  for 
the  women  and  children.  Practically  every  male 
inhabitant  had  joined  the  most  exciting  of  all 
chases — the  man -hunt. 

The  sheriff  placed  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  chewed 
it  almost  to  the  other  end  without  lighting  it,  then 
spat  it  out. 

"When  that  searching  party  finds  their  dead 
dogs  and  drinks  up  all  their  red  liquor,"  he  rea 
soned  to  himself,  ' '  and  come  back  to  town  and  find 
those  coons  in  jail,  they'll  form  a  mob.  My 
deputies  will  desert  the  crowd  wrhen  the  mob  forms, 
but  they  won't  join  me.  It's  up  to  me  to  protect 
the  coons." 

The  town-clock  struck  two. 

Far  down  the  road,  Sheriff  Ulloa  heard  the 
piercing  yell  of  the  fox-hunter. 

"They're  coming  back,"  he  muttered. 

Taking  a  large  pistol  from  the  holster  under  his 
arm,  he  examined  it  carefully,  revolving  the  cylin 
der  between  his  thumb  and  finger. 

A  tiny  chameleon  was  playing  up  and  down  the 
bark  of  a  tree  twenty  feet  distant. 

With  a  motion  which  appeared  almost  careless, 
Ulloa  made  a  turn  of  his  wrist,  there  was  a  loud 
explosion  from  the  gun,  and  the  little  creature 
spattered  into  fragments,  leaving  a  dark,  wet 


174       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

spot  against  the  tree  which  looked  as  if  a  man 
had  spat  at  a  hole  in  the  bark  and  made  a  center 
shot. 

The  shot  aroused  the  two  negroes  on  the  floor 
above,  and  the  man-hunters  heard  it  and  hastened 
back  to  town. 

When  the  party  arrived  in  Kerlerac  they  quickly 
heard  of  the  sheriff's  capture  of  the  fugitives,  but 
not  a  man  came  to  the  sheriff  to  ask  him  about  the 
capture.  They  gathered  in  a  body  in  the  Red 
Elephant  saloon. 

Soon  one  of  the  deputies,  white-faced  and  pant 
ing,  ran  into  the  sheriff's  presence  with  the  news 
that  a  mob  was  forming  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town. 

"I  expected  that,"  Ulloa  answered  quietly. 
"You  and  the  other  two  deputies  arm  yourselves 
with  rifles  and  hide  in  the  tower  of  the  court-house 
overlooking  the  front  of  the  jail. " 

' '  What  must  we  do  ? "  the  deputy  asked  tremu 
lously.  "Shoot?" 

"Do  your  duty!"  Ulloa  replied  shortly,  "what 
ever  you  conceive  it  to  be. ' ' 

He  turned  and  entered  the  jail,  locking  the  door 
behind  him. 

"Boss,"  Mustard  Prophet  called  down  tojhim, 
"me  an'  Pap  lef  our  toot-hawns  down-stairs. 
Please,  suh,  fotch  us  up  de  cawnet  an'  de  trom 
bone!" 

With  a  grim  smile  the  sheriff  complied  with  the 
request. 

"You  niggers  better  play  the  Dead  March  in 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       175 

Saul, "  he  muttered  grimly.  "It'll  be  appropriate 
all  right." 

"Us  ain't  'quainted  wid  dat  toon, "  Pap  grinned, 
reaching  for  his  trombone.  "But  me  an'  Mustard 
kin  shore  fetch  ragtime  and  religion  songs." 

In  the  meantime,  in  the  far  end  of  the  town,  sixty 
excited  men  had  supplied  themselves  with  enough 
rope  to  hang  a  man  from  a  not  too  distant  star; 
had  armed  themselves  with  knives  and  hatchets 
and  axes,  with  guns  and  pistols;  had  appointed 
their  leader,  Barto  Skaggs,  a  man  of  swarthy 
complexion,  a  grim  mouth,  surmounted  by  a 
black  mustache,  and  intense,  glowing  black  eyes, 
which  pressed  hard  against  the  lids  and  showed  a 
great  deal  of  white  beneath  the  pupil — the  eyes  of 
the  wanton  destroyer. 

"Keep  together,  men!"  Barto  Skaggs  advised. 
"When  one  man  acts  everybody  act  with  him. 
Come  on!" 

With  the  first  forward  step  of  the  mob  a  tall, 
gangling,  half-wit  boy,  with  a  long  neck,  a  step- 
ladder  head,  a  long  sharp  nose,  and  a  receding  chin, 
and  a  loose-lipped  mouth  which  dribbled  tobacco- 
juice  as  he  spoke,  began  to  repeat  like  a  chant : 

"Gon'er  git  them  niggers!  Gon'er  git  them 
niggers !  Gon'er  git  them  niggers ! ' ' 

His  harsh,  crackly,  gosling  voice,  uttering  every 
word  with  a  jerk,  soon  took  the  monotonous  roll  of 
a  snaredrum.  Unconsciously  the  men  kept  step 
to  the  words  and  the  purpose  expressed  in  the 
sentence  was  burned  into  the  very  fiber  of  their 
souls : 


176       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

"Gon'er  git  them  niggers!  Gon'er  git  them 
niggers!  Gon'er  git  them  niggers!" 

Turning  into  the  street  which  led  to  the  jail  two 
blocks  away,  the  mob  rounded  the  Confederate 
Circle,  in  the  center  of  which  was  a  ridiculous, 
stump-legged,  pewter  image  of  a  man,  too  short 
in  its  stride  for  glory,  but,  nevertheless,  erected 
by  a  grateful  populace  as  a  monument  of  glory  to 
commemorate  the  heroes  of  the  South. 

Then  Sheriff  Ulloa  stepped  out  of  the  jail,  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  tossed  the  key  as  far  as  he 
could  throw  it  into  some  high  weeds  growing  at 
the  side  of  the  prison,  and  waited. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  the  leader  and  spokes 
man  to  explain  to  the  officer  of  the  law  the  purpose 
of  their  visit. 

Fully  a  block  away  the  half-wit's  strident  voice, 
having  gained  in  volume  by  the  constant  repetition 
of  the  phrase,  conveyed  the  message  in  tones  which 
crackled  like  thorns  under  a  pot : 

"Gon'er  git  them  niggers!  Gon'er  git  them 
niggers !  Gon '  er  git 

The  mob  halted. 

"Turn  around  and  go  back,  gentlemen,"  the 
sheriff  said  courteously.  "Start  your  one-man 
band  to  playing  another  tune,  and  go  back ! ' ' 

In  the  center  of  the  street  there  was  a  rut  which 
had  been  made  by  wagon  wheels. 

The  mob  moved  slowly  forward,  and  stopped 
at  this  rut  like  children  toeing  a  mark  in  a  spelling- 
match.  They  seemed  to  feel  that  a  contest  was 
on,  and  that  this  rut  was  the  dead-line. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       177 

"We  want  them  niggers,  sheriff,"  Barto  Skaggs 
said. 

"You  shall  not  have  them,"  Ulloa  replied 
quietly  and  forcibly.  ' '  When  you  kill  those  blacks 
every  man  of  you  is  a  -murderer.  I  shall  not  be 
sheriff  of  a  parish  which  contains  sixty  murderers — 
men  of  prominence — running  at  large!" 

"Aw,  come  off,  George!"  an  impatient  voice 
exclaimed.  "You've  kilt  a  plenty  of  coons  in 
your  day!" 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  I  have,"  Ulloa  answered 
quickly.  "7  have  never  been  slow  to  kill!  And  I 
was  elected  sheriff  of  this  parish  by  you  for  the 
one  purpose  of  totally  abolishing  this  wholesale 
slaughter  of  innocent  and  unoffending  blacks, 
and  for  the  protection  of  offenders  from  mob  vio 
lence  in  order  that  the  law  might  take  its  course. 
I  shall  do  it." 

Looking  into  the  quiet,  determined  face  of  the 
officer,  the  mob  wavered.  Then  the  half-wit's 
snare-drum  voice  rallied  them: 

"Gon'er  git  them  niggers!  Gon'er  git  them 
niggers !  Gon'er  git ' ' 

The  mob  took  one  cautious  step  forward.  Ulloa 
drew  his  pistol  from  his  pocket. 

"That's  far  enough,  fellow  citizens,"  he  said, 
and  now  his  voice  drawled  like  the  purr  of  a  cat 
and  was  deadly  in  its  menace.  "When  you  get 
those  niggers  I  won't  be  the  sheriff  of  this  parish. 
I'll  be  dead.  I  don't  know  who'll  get  me,  but  I'll 
kill  the  first  man  who  takes  the  next  step  for 
ward!" 

12 


178       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

The  mob  packed  denser,  became  tense,  throbbed 
like  an  automobile  when  the  power  is  turned  on. 
Ulloa's  eyes  gazed  straight  into  the  destructive 
orbs  of  Barto  Skaggs  and  held  him  like  a  hypnotist. 
Then  the  half-wit  began : 

"Gon'er  git — them  niggers!    Gon'er  git " 

A  back-handed  blow  from  Barto  Skaggs 's  fist 
struck  the  half-wit  fairly  in  the  mouth  and  sent 
him  reeling  backward,  disarranging  for  a  moment 
the  tense  compact  mass  of  men. 

Then  from  the  second-story  front  window  of  the 
jail,  just  above  the  sheriff's  head  and  behind  him, 
there  came  a  sound  which  caused  the  sheriff's 
swarthy  face  to  whiten  to  the  eyebrows — the 
most  unfortunate  thing  which  could  have  hap 
pened  to  his  cause: 

"Oo-oh!  My  Gawd,  my  Gawd!  De  mobbers 
is  comin' !  De  mobbers ! ' ' 

Instantly  the  mob  crouched  like  panthers  ready 
to  spring. 

VIII 

MOB   AND  MUSIC. 

Up  to  the  moment  when  their  frightened  screams 
had  stirred  afresh  the  mob's  lust  to  kill,  Mustard 
and  Pap  Curtain  had  been  totally  ignorant  of  what 
was  occurring  outside  the  jail.  Wandering  idly 
to  the  window  to  look  out,  they  had  seen  what 
every  negro  dreads,  whatever  the  reason  for  his 
incarceration — a  mob. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       179 

With  the  first  frightened  cry  Sheriff  Ulloa  knew 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  disperse  the  crowd 
before  him.  The  scream  of  the  quarry  only 
stimulates  the  pursuit  of  the  wolf -pack. 

For  two  dreadful  minutes  the  negroes  sobbed 
and  prayed;  then  Mustard  Prophet  turned  shud- 
deringly  away  from  the  window  and,  going  to  a 
window  on  the  side  of  the  jail,  knelt  at  the  case 
ment  and  wept  like  a  child,  looking  up  now  and 
then  with  fear-crazed  eyes  at  the  silent  statue  of 
the  pewter  hero  of  the  Lost  Cause. 

Then  while  the  grim  sheriff  stood  poised  and 
ready,  fronting  alone  the  crouching  crowd  of  eager 
men,  the  shrill  note  of  an  automobile  horn  was 
heard  and  an  immense  machine  whirled  around  the 
Confederate  Circle  and  came  sailing  down  the 
street  toward  the  jail. 

One  block  distant  it  stopped — abruptly. 

The  white-haired,  white-bearded  man  at  the 
steering-wheel  gazed  down  the  street  in  surprise. 
The  scene  was  too  familiar  to  require  explanation. 
Leaping  from  the  car,  he  walked  slowly  and  cau 
tiously  down  the  street. 

Then,  up  in  the  second  story  of  the  jail,  Mustard 
Prophet  leaped  to  his  feet  sobbing,  praying,  shriek 
ing  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  hope  and  fear. 

"Oh,  my  Lawd!"  he  exclaimed.  "Dar's  Marse 
Tom!" 

Grabbing  his  cornet  like  a  drowning  man 
clutches  at  a  straw,  he  placed  it  to  his  quivering 
lips.  Loud  and  clear,  throbbing  with  the  eager 
ness  of  hope,  the  courage  of  despair,  the  strains  of 


i8o       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

music  became  almost  articulate  speaking  the  words 
of  a  song : 

All  de  world  am  sad  and  dreary, 

Eberywhere  I  roam; 
Oh,  darkies,  how  my  heart  grows  weary, 

Far  from  de  old  folks  at  home! 

The  god  Mars,  who  had  witnessed  many  war 
like  scenes  in  Louisiana,  never  beheld  an  incident 
so  grotesquely  dramatic  as  this. 

In  front  of  the  jail,  grim,  white-faced,  desperate, 
determined  to  end  his  life  right  there,  and  perfectly 
sure  that  the  end  was  near,  stood  Sheriff  Ulloa. 
In  the  middle  of  the  street,  a  mob,  bloodthirsty 
and  cruel,  listening  raveningly  to  the  frightened 
screams  of  their  quarry,  and  eager  for  the  kill. 
Up  the  street,  a  man  serenely  observant,  appar 
ently  indifferent  to  what  was  transpiring  before  his 
very  eyes;  while  within  the  jail  two  strangling, 
fear-choked  negroes  whose  breath  was  like  the  ex 
haust  of  an  engine  and  whose  hearts  beat  in  their 
breasts  like  war-drums,  sobbed  and  screamed  and 
prayed  and  one  of  them  played  on  a  cornet  Old 
Folks  at  Home  ! 

Not  since  the  poor,  pitiful,  dissipated  author  of 
that  sweet  folk-song  stumbled  over  the  ragged 
carpet  in  his  miserable  room  in  the  Bowery,  struck 
his  head  against  his  broken  water-pitcher,  bled  to 
death  upon  the  floor,  and  was  carried  to  his  grave 
while  his  friends  sang  his  favorite  song,  had  these 
words  and  their  music  been  associated  with  so 
dramatic  an  event. 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       181 

"Per  Gawd's  sake,  Pap!"  Mustard  sobbed. 
"Come  here  an'  he'p  me  play  dis  toon!  Don't 
you  see  Marse  Tom  standin'  on  dat  cornder? 
Play,  nigger,  play!  Say  yo'  prayers  in  dat  hawn 
when  you  toot  it!" 

All  up  and  down  de  whole  creation 

Sadly  I  roam, 
Still  longing  for  de  old  plantation 

And  for  de  old  folks  at  home ! 

Up  the  street  the  white-haired  man  listened, 
then  took  off  his  hat  and  scratched  his  head  in  a 
quandary. 

"A  mob  set  to  music!"  he  smiled  to  himself. 
"This  is  something  new  to  me.  I  wonder  what 
that  fool  Mustard  Prophet  is  doing  here?" 

He  walked  quietly  down  the  street  and  stopped 
in  front  of  the  jail,  taking  his  position  by  the  side 
of  Sheriff  Ulloa.  With  a  graceful  gesture  he  re 
moved  his  hat  and  thus  fronted  the  mob,  serene, 
powerful,  his  fine  lace  glowing  like  an  alabaster 
vase  with  a  lamp  in  it,  the  wind  tossing  his  snow- 
white  hair  and  beard — the  most  striking  and 
impressive  figure  one  beholds  in  a  lifetime.  He 
stood  with  bowed  head  listening  to  the  music: 

Oh,  darkies,  how  my  heart  grows  weary, 
Far  from  de  old  folks  at  home! 

The  music  ended  and  the  intense  silence  was 
broken  by  a  voice  in  the  mob : 

" Aw,  hell!     I  move  we  adjourn — backwards /" 


1 82       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

With  a  concerted  movement  like  a  piece  of  oiled 
machinery,  the  mob  turned  and  tramped  up  the 
street  like  a  drove  of  mules,  leaving  four  lengthy 
coils  of  rope,  a  broken  hatchet,  a  hoe-handle,  and  a 
corncob  pipe  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Turning  with  gracious  Spanish  courtesy,  Sheriff 
Ulloa  bowed  low  before  the  serene,  powerful  pre 
sence  of  Gaitskill,  and  murmured: 

' '  I  thank  you.     You  saved  my  life ! ' ' 

' '  Nothing  of  the  sort ! ' '  Gaitskill  snorted.  ' '  A 
mob  can't  work  to  the  tune  of  Suwanee  River! 
Where's  that  fool  who's  blowing  that  horn?" 

"I'll  conduct  you  to  him/'  Ulloa  answered. 

A  minute  later  Gaitskill  and  Ulloa  had  secured 
another  key  to  the  jail,  had  entered,  and  stood 
in  the  presence  of  Mustard  Prophet  and  Pap  Cur 
tain.     The   two   negroes   were   too  overcome   t< 
speak.     Crazed  by  their  horrible  experiences,  the] 
sat  wildly  mumbling  their  prayers  and  uttering 
exclamations  of  thanksgiving. 

"These  are  the  men  I  telephoned  you  about," 
Ulloa  said. 

"These  are  not  the  men  we  want,"  Gaitsl 
replied  in  a  disappointed  tone.     "One  of  the* 
darkies  is  the  overseer  on  my  Nigger-Heel  plan 
tation." 

* '  You  asked  me  over  the  telephone  if  one  of  thei 
was  yellow?"    Ulloa  said,  pointing   to  Pap   Cur 
tain. 

"Pap's  yellow,  all  right,"  Gaitskill  smiled. 
"But  he's  not  the  man.  He's  the  well-digger  of 
Tickfall.  The  coon  we  want  is  a  nigger  named 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       183 

Mobile  Boone.  He  was  seen  early  Sunday  morn 
ing  coming  this  way  with  my  bag  of  money. ' ' 

Sheriff  Ulloa  opened  his  mouth  to  speak;  then 
he  closed  it  without  saying  a  word. 

"Marse  Tom, "  Mustard  asked,  "wus  Mobile  a 
yeller  nigger  wid  a  gold  toof  in  his  mouf  an'  a  scar 
on  his  jaw?" 

"Yes." 

Mustard  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  laugh  and 
gave  Pap  Curtain  a  mighty  kick. 

1 '  Git  up,  Pap, "  he  howled.  ' '  Less  go  git  Marse 
Tom's  money  fer  him!" 

When  a  moment  later  the  big  automobile  swung 
into  the  Massacre  road  leading  to  the  old  Kerlerac 
plantation  house,  Pap  Curtain  leaned  over  and 
whispered : 

1 '  Mustard,  how  you  know  dat  Mobile  is  hid  dat 
money  under  dat  rock?  S'posen  you  go  dar  an' 
don't  find  it ?  Whut '11  happen  den ? " 

Mustard  turned  almost  white.  Then  he  an 
swered  : 

"Pap,  ef  I  don't  git  dat  money  dese  here  white 
men  will  hang  up  my  Chris'mus  socks  widout 
takin'  me  out  of  'em!" 

IX 

BACK  TO  THE  OLD  FOLKS. 

Entering  the  stone  ruins  of  the  old  plantation- 
house,  Mustard  walked  unerringly  to  the  large, 
flat  rock  which  Mobile  had  lifted  a  few  hours 


1 84       Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow 

before  and  raised  it  from  the  ground.  Pap  Cur 
tain  clawed  in  the  soft  soil  with  his  horny  hands, 
then  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  yell. 

He  held  the  heavy  canvas  bag  tied  with  a  raw 
hide  string. 

Two  hours  later,  Pap  Curtain  and  Mustard 
Prophet,  sons  of  sorrow,  reach  the  pinnacle  of 
happiness.  Clothed  in  new  garments,  smoking 
cigars,  rattling  money  in  their  pockets,  they  sat 
down  in  a  banker's  five-thousand-dollar  auto 
mobile,  the  owner  at  the  steering-wheel,  and 
started  their  journey  back  to  Tickfall  and  the  old 
folks  at  home. 

Mustard  Prophet,  responsive  as  mercury  to  the 
least  chill  in  the  atmosphere  or  the  slightest  in 
crease  in  the  warmth  of  fortune's  sunshine,  began 
to  expand: 

"Marse  Tom,  I  shore  hopes  you'll  take  better 
keer  of  de  rest  of  yo'  dollars  dan  you  did  of  dis  bag 
of  money.  'Twus  a  powerful  hard  day's  wuck  fer 
me  when  I  got  it  back  for  you!" 

No  answer  from  Colonel  Gait  skill.  The  miles 
sped  by. 

Then  Mustard  asked,  with  as  much  curiosity  as 
if  he  had  been  gone  thirty  years  instead  of  less 
than  three  days: 

"Marse  Tom,  is  Hopey  livin'  yit?" 

"Yes." 

"I  bet  dat  nigger  wife  of  mine  makes  'miration 
over  dese  here  fine  clothes  I'm  got  on. " 

Silence  again,  then  a  shout  from  both  negroes: 

' '  Bless  Gawd !     Bar's  Tickfall. ' ' 


Two  Sorry  Sons  of  Sorrow       185 

When  the  car  stopped  in  front  of  the  bank,  Gait- 
skill  got  out,  carrying  his  money-bag,  Pap  and 
Mustard  carrying  their  precious  musical  instru 
ments. 

"Marse  Torn/'  Mustard  inquired,  "does  I  git 
my  same  job  at  de  Nigger-Heel  back  agin?" 

"Certainly." 

"I's  shore  glad  of  dat,  Marse  Tom.  Sheriff 
Ulloa  offered  me  a  job,  but  I  ain't  gwine  take  it. " 

"What  did  the  sheriff  want  you  to  do?"  Gait- 
skill  smiled. 

"He  axed  me  to  he'p  him  lay  a  pipe-line  to  de 
Milky  Way  so  he  could  start  a  dairy. " 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle. 

"SKEETER,  whose  pup  wus  dat  you  wus  totin' 
aroun'  on  yo'  arm  yistiddy?"  Figger  Bush  asked 
as  he  sat  down  beside  a  table  in  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon.  "I'd  druther  be  dead  dan  be  perceived 
packin'  a  pup." 

"Dat  warn't  no  common  growl-an'-bark  dawg, " 
Skeeter  grinned,  blushing  until  his  saddle-colored 
face  turned  to  a  deep  brownish  crimson.  "Dat 
wus  one  of  dese  here  Spitz  dawgs.  It  b 'longs  to 
Telia  Tandy,  dat  new  gal  whut  jes'  come  to  Tick- 
fall.  I's  keepin'  it  fer  her. " 

"How  come  she  don't  keep  it  fer  herse'f?" 
Figger  inquired. 

"She's  stayin'  down  at  Mustard  Prophet's 
cabin,  an'  she's  skeart  Mustard's  fox-houn's  will 
eat  her  dawg  up — dar  he  comes  now!" 

The  little  Pomeranian  racked  across  the  sandy 
floor  of  the  saloon,  small  sharp  ears  erect,  his  fine 
intelligent  eyes  sparkling,  his  thick  hair  as  fine  and 
glossy  as  silk.  He  leaped  into  Skeeter 's  lap,  and 
licked  a  tiny  red  tongue  at  Skeeter's  face. 

"Look  out,  Skeeter!"  Figger  exclaimed,  pushing 
his  chair  out  of  the  danger  zone.  "Ain't  you 
skeart  dat  Spit  dawg  will  spit  in  yo'  face?" 

186 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          187 

"Naw!"  Skeeter  replied  disgustedly.  "Dey 
jes'  calls  him  a  Spitz  dawg  fer  a  name.  Dat's  a 
manner  ofspeakin',  as  it  were.  Ef  you  buys  a 
plug  of  Bull-dawg  chawin'  terbaccer,  you  don't 
especkto  git  bit,  does  yer?" 

"You  shorely  muss  be  stuck  on  dat  new  gal  ef 
you  totes  her  dawg  on  de  street  an'  feeds  him 
puffeckly  good  vittles  in  de  Hen-Scratch  saloom, " 
Figger  replied,  ignoring  Skeeter's  question. 

"I  is  in  love  wid  dat  gal,"  Skeeter  replied 
positively.  "She's  shore  easy  to  look  at,  Figger. 
An'  she  specifies  she  is  wuth  one  thousan'  dollars. " 

' '  My  Lawd ! ' '  Figger  exclaimed  fervently.  ' '  I'd 
be  willin'  to  tote  a  whole  litter  of  Spit  dawgs  fer 
her!" 

"I  wants  you  to  he'p  me  ketch  her,  Figger," 
Skeeter  said  earnestly.  ' '  I  needs  about  a  thousan' 
dollars  to  make  some  improvements  in  dis  bar 
room,  an'  escusin'  dat,  de  gal  is  plum'  wuth 
havin'." 

"Am  she  really  got  dat  many  money,  or  do  she 
jes'  value  her  carcass  at  dat  many  dollars?" 
Figger  asked  suspiciously. 

"I  dunno,"  Skeeter  replied  doubtfully.  "All 
she  said  wus  dat  she  wus  wuth  one  thousan' 
dollars." 

"Huh,"  Figger  grunted  skeptically.  "She 
mought  be  pricin'  herse'f  too  high. " 

Suddenly  the  green-baize  doors  of  the  saloon 
were  thrust  aside,  and  a  clear  voice  called: 

"Oh,  Skeeter!     Come  out  here!" 

Skeeter    jumped  like  someone  had  popped  a 


1 88          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

dynamite  cap  under  his  chair,  and  hastened  out  to 
the  front.  Figger  followed  slowly  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  a  good  look  at  Skeeter's  new  girl. 

She  was  well  worth  seeing.  She  was  as  slim  and 
straight  and  graceful  as  a  stalk  of  sugar-cane;  her 
color  was  a  little  darker  than  Skeeter's; an  Ethio 
pian  type,  with  perfect  features,  a  sinewy,  cat-like 
movement  of  muscles  under  satiny  skin,  easy- 
smiling  lips,  which  played  constantly  over  per 
fectly  beautiful  teeth,  and  a  speaking  voice  which 
any  orator  in  the  world  would  covet. 

' '  Lawd, ' '  Figger  sighed  enviously.  ' '  She's  wuth 
de  thousan'  dollars,  all  right. " 

"I  wants  my  dawg,  Skeeter, "  Telia  Tandy  said. 
"  I's  gwine  down  to  de  deppo  to  watch  de  train  come 
in.  Want  to  come  wid  me  an'  tote  de  dawg?" 

"No'm, "  Skeeter  answered  regretfully,  as  he 
snapped  his  fingers  and  the  little  Spitz  leaped  under 
the  saloon  doors  and  sprang  into  his  owner's  arms. 
"I  got  to  make  a  livin'  keepin'  bar.  I'll  go  wid 
you  some  yuther  time. " 

The  woman  walked  down  the  street  and  Skeeter 
returned  to  the  table  where  he  had  been  sitting. 
He  sighed  like  a  furnace  and  wiped  the  sweat  from 
his  face. 

"Figger,"  he  said  pantingly,  "dat  gal  nearly 
gibs  me  de  jim-jams  eve'y  time  I  sees  her.  I 
loses  all  de  good  sense  I'm  got.  I  feels  like  a  fool 
an'  I  acks  like  a  fool,  an'  'pears  to  me  like  dat  gal  is 
laughin'  at  me  all  de  time. " 

"I  'spect  so,"  Figger  said  commiseratingly,  as 
he  arose  to  go.  "Dem  females  is  mos'  in  gineral 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          189 

laughin'  at  us.  But  dem  simpletoms  you  an 
nounce  is  shore  a  bad  sign.  Mattermony'll  ketch 
you  ef  you  don't  watch  out.  Ef  you  needs  any 
good  advices,  I  'speck  you  better  send  fer  me. " 

Figger  sauntered  down  to  the  depot,  watched 
the  passenger  train  arrive  and  depart,  and  then 
hurried  back  to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon. 

"Bad  luck,  Skeeter!"  he  howled,  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  room.  "Dat  Telia  Tandy  went  down 
to  de  deppo  to  meet  a  man  an'  dat  man  looks  like 
one  of  dese  here  watermillyumaires ! " 

"  Lawdymussy ! "  Skeeter  squeaked,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "I  knowed  my  luck  wus  too  good  to 
last.  Whar  is  dat  new  nigger  man  at?" 

"Dey  is  bofe  comin'  up  dis  yvay, "  Figger 
informed  him.  "Dat  new  man  is  packin'  de  Spit 
dawg.  I  figger  de  load  will  break  him  down  about 
time  he  gits  to  de  Hen-Scratch. " 

For  ten  minutes  the  two  sat  in  gloomy  silence. 
Skeeter  lighted  cigarette  after  cigarette,  twiddled 
his  thumbs,  jiggered  his  feet,  and  acted  generally 
like  a  man  with  the  St.  Vitus  dance.  Figger  was 
more  composed.  He  was  thankful  that  he  was 
merely  an  innocent  bystander.  At  last  Skeeter 
sighed: 

' ' Ef  I  lose  dat  gal,  it'll  bust  my  heart,  Figger.  I 
been  courtin'  her  servigerous  fer  a  week.  My  head 
is  so  full  of  tears  now  it  would  take  a  week  to  bail 
me  out!" 

Voices  were  heard  at  the  door  and  Skeeter  arose 
tremblingly  and  walked  out.  Telia  and  the 
strange  man  were  waiting  for  him. 


190         Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

"Dis  is  my  frein',  Mr.  Deo  Diddle,  Skeeter," 
Telia  said  easily.  ' '  I  jes'  been  tellin'  him  how  kind 
you  wus  to  keep  my  dawg. " 

"Glad  to  meet  yo'  'quaintance, "  Skeeter 
mumbled,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Same  back  at  you,"  Deo  replied.  Then 
turning  to  Telia  Tandy,  he  said:  "Me  an'  dis 
dawg  is  got  a  little  bizzness  wid  Mr.  Muskeeter 
Butts,  Telia.  You  f oiler  yo'  little  nose  down  de 
street  an'  see  ef  he  don't  lead  you  somewhar  else. " 

Skeeter  and  Deo  Diddle  entered  the  saloon  and 
sat  down  at  the  table  with  Figger  Bush.  The  dog 
sniffed  around  the  room  for  a  minute  and  then 
passed  out  toward  the  rear. 

Deo  Diddle  was  about  the  size  of  Skeeter  Butts, 
but  it  required  no  expert  eyes  to  see  that  he  was  a 
perfect  athlete.  The  poise  of  his  head  and  body, 
the  accuracy  and  decision  of  even  the  slightest 
move,  the  steady,  assured  gaze  of  his  eyes  indicated 
a  man  whose  muscles  and  brain  were  trained 
in  some  field  of  endeavor  which  required  both 
strength  and  wit. 

"At  de  fust  offstartin',  Mr.  Butts, "  Deo  Diddle 
began  easily,  "I  announces  my  bizzness  an*  de 
puppus  of  my  visit  to  Tickfall:  I's  a  Monarch  of  de 
Manacle. " 

' '  You's  a — a — which ? ' '  Skeeter  asked,  his  eyes 
sticking  out  like  a  bug's. 

"I  gibs  a  show,"  Deo  Diddle  explained.  "I 
lets  people  handcuff  me  an'  I  slips  'em  off  as  easy 
as  you  kin  take  off  a  glove.  I  lets  people  nail  me 
up  in  a  box  an'  I  gits  out  as  easy  as  you  kin  git 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          191 

outen  dat  chair. .  I  lets  people  tie  me  in  bed  wid 
ropes  an'  I  gits  loose  as  easy  as  a  pickaninny  kin 
fall  outen  a  hammock.  An'  on  de  side,  I  tells 
forchines,  reads  minds,  finds  lost  treasures,  an' 
gives  a  few  sleight-of-han'  tricks. " 

"Huh!"  Skeeter  and  Figger  grunted  in  a  duet. 

"Yes,  suh,"  Deo  Diddle  went  on.  "I  done 
hired  dat  hall  down  in  de  settlemint  called  Dirty- 
Six,  an'  I's  gibin'  a  show  eve'y  night  fer  three 
nights.  Would  you  wish  to  come?" 

"I  shore  would!"  Skeeter  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"I's  glad  to  hear  you  say  dat,  suh, "  Deo  replied. 
"I's  gwine  gib  a  free  pass  to  you  an'  Mr.  Bush, 
an'  I  hopes  you  will  speak  up  my  show  fer  me. 
Admission  ten  cents  fer  chillun  an'  two-bits  fer 
growed-ups!" 

He  handed  Skeeter  and  Figger  a  slip  of  paper 
apiece,  and  rose  and  walked  out  of  the  saloon, 
leaving  the  two  men  to  gaze  after  him  in  speech 
less  astonishment.  After  a  long  time,  Figger 
remarked : 

"You  done  got  yo*  wuck  cut  out  fer  you,  Skeeter. 
You  know  how  batty  female  womans  is  about  show 
folks!" 


A  show  given  by  negroes  will  attract  other 
negroes  as  a  barrel  of  molasses  attracts  flies.  The 
little  hall  in  Dirty-Six  was  filled  to  its  capacity  a 
long  time  before  the  hour  of  the  exhibition. 

Skeeter  Butts  and  Figger  Bush  occupied  the 
front  seat  directly  facing  the  center  of  the  stage. 


192          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

"Whar  is  Telia  Tandy,  Figger?"  Skeeter  asked 
uneasily,  scanning  the  faces  in  the  crowd.  "I 
went  to  her  house  atter  her  an'  dey  tole  me  she'd 
done  went.  But  I  don't  see  her.  " 

11  She'll  git  here  on  time,"  Figger  assured  him. 
"She  ain't  hatin'  dis  Deo  Diddfe  none,  an'  she'll 
watch  him  pufform. " 

Then  the  ragged  curtain  parted  in  the  mid 
dle,  one  half  being  pulled  to  each  side  of  the 
stage. 

"Ladies  an'  gen'lemans, "  Deo  Diddle  began, 
"I's  gwine  gib  a  refined  exhibition  of  sleight-of- 
hands  fust  of  all,  an'  I  defy  anybody  to  kotch  me 
at  my  tricks." 

The  stunts  which  followed  were  too  simple  and 
commonplace  to  mention,  but  they  were  wonder 
ful  because  new  to  the  Tickfall  negroes.  In  a  little 
while  the  whole  house  was  vocal  with  the  com 
ments  of  the  spectators,  who  made  remarks  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  sometimes  got  into  an  argument 
with  some  friend  across  the  room. 

"My  Lawd, "  Hitch  Diamond  bellowed,  when  he 
saw  the  performer  break  an  egg  in  a  pan,  scramble 
it,  light  an  alcohol  lamp  and  cook  it,  then  lift  out 
of  the  pan  a  live  goose.  "My  Lawd,  dat  puffor- 
mance  is  agin  nature!" 

1 '  'Tain't  so ! "  the  Reverend  Vinegar  Atts  bawled 
from  the  other  side  of  the  house.  ' '  De  Good  Book 
says  us  shall  see  wonders  in  de  heaven  above  an'  de 
yearth  beneath " 

"Aw,  go  up  dar  wid  de  buzzards!"  Hitch  Dia 
mond  retorted  in  a  disgusted  tone.  "Not  even 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          193 

le  good  Lawd  could  make  a  nigger  hatch  a  goose 
mten  a  scrambled  hen's  egg!" 

In  the  meantime,  Deo  Diddle  had  turned  his 
ittention  to  a  stove-pipe  hat  belonging  to  Vinegar 
\tts,  and  was  winding  yard  after  yard  of  colored 
mper  out  of  the  crown,  catching  it  upon  a  wand. 

' '  Us  knowed  you  never  did  carry  no  brains  in  dat 
lat,  Revun,  even  when  you  had  it  on  yo'  head!" 
ap  Curtain  guffawed. 

The  spectators  were  getting  their  money's 
vorth  when  Deo  Diddle  suddenly  changed  the 
performance. 

"Friends,"  he  announced,  "I's  gwine  interjuice 
you  to  de  mos'  wonderful  woman  in  de  worl'.  She 
kin  set  right  here  in  dis  chair  an'  tell  you- alls  all 
about  yo'vSe'ves!  She  don't  know  nobody  in  dis 
town,  but  she  is  gwine  mention  names  an'  tell 
secrets  out  loud  whut  nobody  ain't  told  her  but  de 
departed  sperits  of  de  yuther  land ! ' ' 

At  that  moment  Telia  Tandy  walked  out  upon 
the  stage  and  sat  down. 

Skeeter  Butts  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  startled 
exclamation,  then  sank  back  again  with  a  cold 
sick  sensation  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"Dat  means  I  done  lost  my  little  she-goddess, 
Figger, "  he  sighed  pitifully.  '"Tain't  no  use  to 
hope  no  more." 

' '  Aw,  pert  up,  Skeeter ! "  his  friend  urged.  ' '  You 
ain't  drapped  de  pertater  yit!" 

Telia  Tandy  appeared  to  be  in  a  trance.  She 
looked  with  unseeing  eyes  over  the  faces  of  the 
crowd,  then  began  in  a  weak,  uncertain  voice : 

M 


194         Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

1  *  I  ketch  de  name  of  Vinegar  Atts — I  sees  a  fly- 
shoo  fly! — church.  Revun  Atts  is  'postlizin'  in  de 
pulpit — de  elder  is  gwine  hab  trouble  in  de  con- 
g'gation — he  better  watch  his  eye 

"I  ketch  de  name  of  Prince  Total — Marse  Tom 
am  lookin'  fer  dat  lost  demijahm  whut  Prince  bor- 
rered — I  'speck  Prince  better  f  otch  dat  jug  back  bef  o' 
he  keeps  it  buried  too  long  by  dat  pine  stump • 

"I  ketch  de  name  of  Pap  Curtain — Pap  is  a 
slick-head  nigger — a  word  from  de  sperit  Ian'  tells 
Pap  dat  he  better  ketch  de  trabbel  itch  an'  hike — 
de  gram-jury  meets  nex'  week " 

For  twenty  minutes  this  revelation  held  the 
audience  in  tense,  dreadful  silence — twenty  min 
utes  of  frightful  retrospection  and  introspection, 
and  when  a  negro's  name  was  mentioned  that 
darky  suffered  a  nervous  shock  from  which  he  did 
not  recover  for  a  week.  Even  if  his  name  was  not 
mentioned,  the  darky  was  afraid  it  would  be,  and 
was  appalled  at  what  the  revelation  might  be. 

At  last  Telia  Tandy  rose  from  the  chair,  felt  her 
way  toward  the  side  of  the  stage  as  if  she  were 
blind,  rubbed  her  hands  over  her  dazed  eyes,  and 
exclaimed  in  a  dramatic  voice: 

"De  book  of  de  recordin'  angel  is  closed,  an*  de 
sperit  land  reveals  no  more!" 

"Bless  Gawd!"  Hitch  Diamond  bellowed  fer 
vently. 

Deo  Diddle  then  brought  out  a  cot  and  set  it  in 
the  middle  of  the  stage.  He  threw  down  upon  the 
floor  a  coil  of  rope  many  feet  in  length  and  ad 
dressed  the  audience* 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          195 

"I  wants  about  ten  men  to  come  up  on  dis  flat- 
form  and  tie  me  to  dis  cot.  I  offers  to  bet  ten 
dollars  I  kin  git  loose  in  two  minutes!" 

"I  takes  dat  bet,  bully!"  Skeeter  Butts  squealed 
as  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  climbed  upon  the 
platform. 

"Me,  too!"  came  a  chorus  of  voices,  and  Vine 
gar  Atts,  Prince  Total,  Pap  Curtain,  Hitch  Dia 
mond,  and  a  number  of  others  who  had  been 
accused  of  various  crimes  and  misdemeanors  by 
Telia  Tandy  followed  Skeeter  to  the  stage. 

They  carefully  '  examined  the  cot  and  rope. 
Then  Deo  Diddle  stretched  himself  out  upon  it, 
lying  flat  upon  the  mattress  with  his  feet  together 
and  his  hands  down  at  his  sides.  Vinegar  Atts 
and  Hitch  Diamond  passed  the  rope  around  and 
around  him,  crossing  and  crisscrossing  it  over  his 
feet  and  body  and  neck  until  he  was  swathed  like 
a  mummy  and  apparently  as  helpless. 

Then  the  committee  climbed  off  the  platform 
and  left  Deo  to  free  himself  in  full  view  of  the 
crowd. 

Deo  entertained  the  crowd  for  a  minute  by  a 
mighty  struggling  and  tugging  and  jerking  and 
grunting,  but  all  the  while  Dec's  right  hand  was 
resting  upon  a  lateral  bar  under  the  cot  which  held 
the  mattress  taut.  At  the  proper  time  Deo  simply 
slipped  this  bar  out  of  its  fastening  on  one  side  of 
the  cot;  the  mattress  sagged  down  in  the  middle 
like  a  hammock,  with  the  many  coils  of  rope  across 
Deo,  but  hardly  touching  his  body. 

Then  Deo  climbed  from  under  the  rope  as  easily 


196         Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

as  a  pig  slips  through  a  gap  in  the  fence  and  was 
free! 

The  shout  of  applause  which  greeted  this  per-' 
formance  almost  lifted  the  roof,  and  amid  the  noise 
Deo  and  Telia  quickly  removed  the  cot  so  that  the 
committee  could  not  examine  it  again. 

"Us  will  hab  a  entirely  diffunt  show  tomorrer 
night,  my  Men's,"  Deo  announced  when  the  noise 
and  excitement  subsided.  '  *  I  is  knowed  all  over  de 
worl'  an'  in  Yurope  as  de  Monarch  of  de  Manacle. 
Fs  de  only  real  nigger  Handcuff  King  in  dis  country. 
Tomorrer  night  I's  gwine  hab  eve'y  kind  of  hand 
cuff  whut  is  used  by  de  sheriffs  an'  policemens  of 
dis  country  an'  furin  parts,  and  I'll  let  you  hand 
cuff  me  up  any  way  you  please,  an'  ef  I  don't  git 
loose  in  five  minutes  I'll  gib  you  twenty-five  dollars 
reward.  Fetch  all  de  handcuffs  you  is  got  aroun' 
de  house  an'  watch  de  Handcuff  King  pufform!" 

"I'll  git  dat  reward-bill!"  Skeeter  Butts 
squealed. 

"All  right,  pardner!"  Deo  laughed.  "Do  yo' 
durndest !  Good-night ! ' ' 

While  the  people  were  leaving  Skeeter  Butts 
climbed  back  upon  the  stage  and  confronted  Telia 
Tandy. 

"Is  you  married  to  dis  Deo  Diddle,  Telia?"  he 
asked  earnestly. 

"Suttinly,"  Telia  laughed.  "Ain't  Deo  a 
wonder?" 

"Whut  you  mean  by  makin'  a  fool  out  en  me?" 
Skeeter  demanded. 

"Don't  pick  no  fuss  wid  me,  Skeeter!"  Telia 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          197 

said.  "Dis  is  a  free  country  an'  you  made  love  at 
me  wid  yo'  own  mind.  I  couldn't  he'p  it  ef  you 
handed  me  yo'  heart  tied  up  in  a  paper-sack. " 

Skeeter  glared  at  her  a  moment,  then  turned  and 
started  away. 

"I  don't  bear  you  no  grudge  fer  dem  lovin' 
words,  Skeeter,"  Telia  snickered. 

Skeeter  Butts  spent  a  large  part  of  the  night  in 
deep  meditation. 

The  next  morning  all  his  friends  crowded  into 
the  Hen-Scratch  to  discuss  the  show.  Telia  Tandy's 
revelations  interested  them  most. 

"How  come  dat  purty  little  coon  knowed  all 
about  me  so  good?"  Vinegar  Atts  wanted  to 
know. 

"How  did  she  know  dat  a  gram- jury  meet  in'  is 
de  real  sign  fer  me  to  leave  dis  town?"  Pap  Cur 
tain  inquired. 

"How  did  she  guess  dat  I  swiped  Marse  Tom 
Gaitskill's  licker-jug  an'  had  it  hid  out  ferninst  a 
pine  stump?"  Prince  Total  wanted  to  know. 

"I  kin  answer  all  dem  'terrogations,  niggers," 
Skeeter  Butts  grinned.  "When  dat  gal  fust  come 
to  town  I  didn't  know  she  wus  connected  up  wid 
no  show,  an'  I  didn't  had  no  idear  she  wus  married, 
an'  I  armed  her  aroun'  an'  tried  to  git  her  to  love 
me.  She  axed  me  about  a  millyum  questions 
about  you-alls,  an'  las'  night  when  she  pulled  up 
dat  stunt  she  was  jes'  repeat  in'  over  whut  I  done 
toleher!" 

"My  Lawd!"  Prince  Total  exclaimed.     "Dat 


198          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

warn't  no  fair.      I  wus  mighty    nigh  skeart  to 
death." 

"I  reckin  so,"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed.  "Yo' 
mem'ry  ain't  loaded  wid  nothin'  but  blank  ca'- 
tridges  ontil  people  begins  to  talk  about  yo' 
meanness — den  yo'  shore  is  got  plenty  ammuni 
tion  of  remembrunce. " 

"I  hope  she  ain't  gwine  pull  no  more  of  dat 
stuff,"  Pap  Curtain  said  uneasily.  "How  much 
did  you  tell  her  'bout  me,  Skeeter?" 

"She's  done  turned  loose  all  she  knows, "  Skeeter 
replied. 

"I  hope  so,"  Pap  said  menacingly.  "Ef  she 
revelates  any  mo*  about  me  I  knows  a  yeller-faced 
bar-keep*  who  is  gwine  hab  his  mug  pounded  into 
anodder  color. " 

"No  danger — I  ain't  skeart,"  Skeeter  said  with 
a  dry  grin.  "I  realizes  dat  wus  a  mistake." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  a  drink  for 
the  crowd  at  Skeeter's  expense,  and  then  Skeeter 
mentioned  a  plan  he  had  matured  in  the  night : 

"Cain't  us  niggers  fix  up  some  kind  of  buzzo 
on  dat  gal  an'  git  even  wid  her?"  he  asked. 

"Whut  mought  dat  buzzo  be?"  Vinegar  Atts 
inquired. 

"Well,  suh,  I  figgers  it  out  dis  way:  Dat  Deo 
Diddle  is  offered  a  reward  fer  any  handcuffs  he 
can't  git  out  of.  Now  ef  Sheriff  Marse  John 
Flournoy  would  only  loan  us  some  hand 
cuffs " 

"Listen    to    dat    nigger's    brains    a-poppin' 
Prince  Total  exclaimed  in  extreme  admiration 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          199 

"Fer  mussy  sake,  Skeeter,  go  see  Marse  John  right 
now.  I'll  keep  dis  saloom.  " 

The  crowd  sat  down  to  wait  while  Skeeter  hast 
ened  to  the  courthouse,  entered  the  sheriff's 
office,  and  stood,  hat  in  hand,  grinning  at  Mr. 
John  Flournoy. 

"Come  in,  Skeeter/'  Flournoy  said.  "I  won't 
lend  any  money,  won't  hear  any  nigger  love  scrapes, 
won't  give  any  advice,  won't  listen  to  any  of  your 
troubles.  Excusing  all  those  things,  what  else 
do  you  want?" 

Skeeter  grinned.  As  he  would  have  expressed 
it,  Marse  John  was  his  ' '  kinnery. "  He  had  grown 
up  in  a  cabin  in  the  sheriff's  yard,  and  this  big- 
bodied,  kind-hearted  sheriff  held  few  terrors  for 
Skeeter. 

"Dar,  now,  Marse  John,  you'll  shore  hab  room 
fer  a  good  appetite  atter  you  is  got  all  dem  words 
off  en  yo'  stomick.  I  come  to  git  a  view  from  you 
about  how  to  colleck  a  twenty-five  dollars  reward- 
bill." 

"That's  interesting, "  Flournoy  grinned.  "Let's 
have  the  details. " 

"Well,  suh,  a  nigger  is  habin'  a  show  in  dis  town 
an'  he  calls  hisse'f  a  Handcuff  King.  He  specify 
dat  he's  a  Monarch  of  de  Manacle.  He  argufy 
dat  dar  ain't  no  kind  of  handcuff  made  dat  he 
can't  git  hisse'f  loose  from  in  less'n  five  minutes. 
Does  you  reckin  dat  is  so,  Marse  John?" 

"Certainly,"  the  sheriff  answered  promptly. 

"How  come?"  Skeeter  asked. 

This  was  one  theme  upon  which  the  sheriff  was 


200          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

competent  to  speak.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  began: 

"There  are  one  hundred  and  forty-two  varieties 
of  handcuffs  and  leg-irons  manufactured  in  the 
civilized  world,  Skeeter,  but  there  are  only  thirty- 
two  separate  brands  which  are  registered  for  use 
by  officers  of  the  law  in  the  United  States.  Four 
master  keys  will  unlock  all  thirty-two  of  these 
leg- irons  and  handcuffs. " 

"Listen  to  dat!"  Skeeter  exclaimed. 

"I  venture  to  say  that  that  negro  showman 
has  all  the  regulation  handcuffs  in  use  in  this 
country,  as  well  as  some  of  European  manu 
facture.  Of  course,  he  also  has  the  keys  to  unlock 
them. " 

"Whar  do  he  tote  de  keys?"  Skeeter  asked 
eagerly. 

"Oh — everywhere!"  Flournoy  smiled.  "In  the 
lining  of  his  clothes,  in  his  shoes  and  socks,  in  his 
sleeves  and  cuffs,  down  his  collar,  even  in  his 
mouth — everywhere ! " 

"Huh!"     Skeeter  grunted.     "Dat's  too  bad." 

There  was  a  long  silence  while  Flournoy  smil 
ingly  watched  Skeeter  think.  The  negro's  face 
was  a  pantomime  of  conflicting  emotions,  and  the 
general  effect  made  for  gloom  and  depression. 
Finally  Flournoy  spoke: 

"My  information  seems  to  discourage  you, 
Skeeter.  What's  the  problem?" 

"It's  dis  way,  Marse  John,"  Skeeter  said  ear 
nestly.  ' '  Dat  uppity,  biggity  nigger  is  done  offered 
twenty-five  dollars  reward  fer  any  handcuff  he 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle         201 

cain't  git  off  in  five  minutes,  an'  I  figgered  dat  I 
had  a  show  to  make  de  money. " 

Flournoy  thought  a  moment,  then  broke  into  a 
loud  chuckle. 

"I  think  you  have  a  splendid  chance  to  copper 
the  coin,  Skeeter.  Wait  here  a  minute!" 

Flournoy  opened  a  steel  door,  walked  to  the 
rear  of  the  vault,  and  pawed  over  a  lot  of  trash  in 
one  corner.  Then  he  came  out  and  tossed  a  hand 
ful  of  police  hardware  on  the  floor  at  Skeeter's  feet. 

"I  think  they  will  hold  him, "  Flournoy  laughed. 

Skeeter  gasped  as  he  eyed  the  cruelest  collection 
of  manacles  and  shackles  he  had  ever  seen. 

There  was  a  pair  of  home-made  wrought -iron 
handcuffs  with  a  stiff  iron  bar  a  foot  long  to  connect 
the  bracelets  instead  of  a  chain.  There  was  a  pair 
of  cumbersome  leg- irons  which  were  used  a  half 
century  ago  in  Southern  convict  camps,  but  whose 
use  is  now  prohibited.  And  there  was  something 
else  which  gave  Skeeter  a  sinking  sensation  at  the 
pit  of  his  stomach  merely  to  look  at.  It  was  a  pair 
of  trigger  cuffs.  Any  attempt  to  loosen  them  by 
the  wearer  has  the  effect  of  tightening  the  bracelets 
while  at  the  same  time  a  needle  trigger  presses 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  flesh  of  the  wrist  until 
the  captive  is  helpless  with  pain. 

"When  I  was  first  elected  sheriff,  forty  years 
ago,  this  stuff  was  in  use,  Skeeter.  I  won't  give 
you  the  keys  to  these  manacles.  If  you  get  them 
on  that  coon  he'll  certainly  need  me!  You  can 
telephone  me  at  the  house  to-night  after  Deo  the 
Diddle  forks  over  that  twenty-five  plunks  to  you ! " 


202          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

Skeeter  wrapped  the  hardware  in  a  newspaper 
and  trod  on  air  as  he  walked  back  to  the  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon.  When  he  told  the  waiting  crowd 
of  his  success  and  showed  them  the  manacles  the 
darkies  had  a  jubilee  and  then  waited  with  the 
impatience  of  children  for  the  night  to  come. 

The  front  row  of  seats  was  occupied  that  night 
by  Skeeter  Butts,  Figger  Bush,  Vinegar  Atts,  Pap 
Curtain,  Prince  Total,  Hitch  Diamond,  and  a  few 
others  of  that  type  who  were  smarting  under  the 
public  revelations  of  the  recording  angel  the  night 
before. 

The  house  was  crowded  to  suffocation  and 
performance  consisted  of  fortune-telling,  feats 
magic,  singing,  and  dancing. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  the  Monarch  of  the 
Manacle  to  make  good  his  boast  that  he  could  get 
out  of  any  handcuff  or  leg-iron  which  the  com 
munity  could  provide  for  his  bonds. 

Up  to  this  time  Deo  had  found  it  perfectly  safe 
everywhere  to  offer  to  release  himself  from  any 
handcuffs  which  the  negroes  could  provide,  for  a 
handcuff  was  something  which  no  negro  possessed, 
and  with  all  their  barbaric  love  of  jewelry  it  was 
an  ornament  which  no  darky  cared  to  wear.  When 
no  manacles  were  supplied  by  the  audience,  Deo 
would  then  invite  a  committee  to  come  upon  the 
stage  and  examine  his.  He  would  present  forty 
different  kinds  for  their  inspection  and  let  them 
choose  any  sort  to  place  upon  his  legs  and  wrists.  As 
they  were  all  familiar  to  Deo,  well  oiled  and  in  good 
condition,  he  had  no  trouble  in  releasing  himself. 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          203 

But  this  time  Deo  Diddle  was  up  against  it ! 

Skeeter  Butts  was  Sheriff  John  Flournoy's 
"nigger."  And  for  that  reason  he  was  probably 
the  only  colored  person  in  the  South  who  could  go 
to  a  sheriff  and  get  the  assortment  of  manacles 
which  he  now  had  wrapped  in  a  newspaper  and 
hidden  under  his  seat. 

When  Deo  invited  a  local  committee  to  come 
upon  the  stage,  asking  for  anyone  who  would 
volunteer,  every  occupant  of  the  first  row  of  seats 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  started  for  the  platform. 

This  prompt  and  concerted  action  told  Deo 
Diddle  that  he  was  in  danger,  that  the  men  were 
out  for  his  blood.  He  was  frightened,  and  although 
he  tried  to  carry  himself  with  an  easy  manner  it 
was  apparent  to  all  the  committee  that  he  was 
anxious  and  distrait. 

Deo  promptly  decided  not  to  ask  for  any  hand 
cuffs  to  be  provided  by  the  people  in  the  assembly. 
To  cover  his  retreat  he  began  his  announcement  of 
the  next  evening's  performance: 

"Dis  is  de  las'  stunt  on  our  plogram  to-night, 
but  tomorrer  we  is  gwine  hab  de  biggest  show  of 
all.  I'll  ax  a  cormittee  to  nail  me  up  in  a  box 
atter  dey  has  handcuffed  me,  an'  I'll  let  'em  tie  de 
box  up  wid  a  rope,  an'  I'll  promise  to  git  out  in 
five  minutes ! ' ' 

Then  for  twenty  minutes  Deo  entertained  the 
audience  by  escaping  from  his  own  leg-irons  and 
handcuffs.  The  negroes  devised  every  sort  of 
method  to  manacle  his  legs  and  wrists,  but  when 
the  curtain  of  the  little  booth  which  was  rigged 


204          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

upon  the  stage  had  been  pulled  together  in  half  a 
minute  or  a  minute  Deo  walked  out  a  free  man! 

Then  Skeeter  Butts  unwrapped  his  newspaper 
and  tossed  his  assortment  of  police  hardware  at 
the  feet  of  Deo  Diddle! 

Deo  looked  down  at  that  appalling  mass  of 
wrought  iron  and  steel  and  shuddered.  He  had 
never  seen  anything  like  them  before.  His  heart 
stood  still  and  his  breath  stopped.  Then  he 
laughed,  a  nervous,  cackling,  uneasy  laugh,  merely 
to  gain  time  to  think. 

He  picked  up  the  three  dreadful  instruments 
and  held  them  before  the  audience — the  wrought- 
iron  bracelets  with  the  lateral  bar — old,  rusty,  out 
of  date,  the  keyhole  filled  with  rust  and  dirt; 
the  horrible  leg-irons  which  a  man  could  not 
escape  from  in  half  a  day  with  the  use  of  a  sharp 
file,  and  the  cruel  trigger  cuffs  with  their  torturing 
needle.  He  described  each  fetter  minutely,  ex 
plained  how  it  was  made,  told  how  quickly  and 
easily  he  expected  to  escape  from  its  bonds,  all  the 
time  praying  desperately  for  some  way  of  escape 
from  his  awful  predicament. 

During  this  speech  Telia  Tandy  came  and  sat 
down  beside  Skeeter  Butts.  Skeeter  grinned 
triumphantly  into  her  face,  then  gave  his  entire 
attention  to  the  spiel  of  Deo  Diddle.  Several 
times  Telia  spoke  to  Skeeter,  but  he  answered  in 
gruff  tones  and  finally  told  her  to  shut  up. 

Then  Deo  did  something  which  made  Skeeter's 
jaw  drop  with  despair — he  closed  each  of  the  gap 
ing  manacles  with  a  loud  snap! 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle         205 

And  Skeeter  did  not  have  a  key  to  open  them 
again ! 

Then  Telia  Tandy  did  a  most  astounding  thing 

she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  loud,  shrill  scream ! 

Everybody  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  as- 
;onishment — Skeeter  Butts  most  astonished  of  all. 

"Whut  you  mean  by  sayin'  dat  to  me,  Skeeter 
Butts  ? ' '  she  whooped.  '  *  You  is  a  low-down  nigger 
,o  insult  a  lady  like  dat!  Oh,  my  Gawd!" 

Telia  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  staggered 
rom  the  stage,  crying  aloud  like  a  baby. 

Skeeter  Butt's  jaw  dropped  down  and  hegapedlike 
in  idiot — he  had  not  said  a  word  or  done  a  thing ! 

He  was  so  startled  by  the  woman's  accusation 
and  her  dramatic  exit  that  when  he  tried  to  speak 
ind  deny  his  guilt  he  stammered  and  spluttered 
nd  looked  guiltier  than  ever. 

"Whut  you  mean  by  insultin'  my  wife,  you  low- 
iown  animated  outrage?"  Deo  Diddle  howled, 
pproaching  Skeeter  with  blood  in  his  eye. 

"I — I — didn't — say — nothin'!"  Skeeter  stam- 
nered. 

'  Kill  him !  Put  him  out !  Bust  him  one  in  de 
aw!"  the  men  in  the  audience  roared,  as  they 
stened  to  the  heart-rending  wails  of  the  cater 
wauling  Telia  Tandy  somewhere  in  the  wings. 

Deo  Diddle's  fist  lunged  out  with  all  his  strength 
>ehind  it.  Skeeter  ducked,  dodged  under  the 
howman's  arms,  grabbed  up  Sheriff  Flournoy's 
riminal  hardware,  and  fled  for  his  life. 

The  next  morning  Skeeter  was  kept  busy  explain- 


206         Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

ing  to  his  many  patrons  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
no  offense  and  that  Telia  Tandy  had  played  a  trick 
on  him  to  keep  him  from  winning  the  twenty-five 
dollars. 

To  Skeeter's  surprise,  nobody  believed  him. 

"Naw,  suh, "  the  reverend  Vinegar  Atts  pro 
claimed,  '  *  you  muss  hab  said  somepin  shameful  to 
dat  little  gal.  She  wusn't  show-actin'  when 
bust  out  cryin'  like  dat. " 

"Dat's    de    way    I    figger, "    Hitch    Diamon( 
growled.     "Ef  you  wus  a'  innercent  man, 
come  you  didn't  stan'  yo'  ground'  an'  fight  wh( 
dat  Deo  wus  fixin'  to  pound  yo'  face  in?" 

"I  ain't  no  fightin'  man,"  Skeeter  protest < 
"I's  a  bizzness  man.     But  I  didn't  say  nothin' 
an'  I  didn't  do  nothin'  —  I  wus  discriminated 
by  dem  show  folks!" 

"Aw,  hush!"  Pap  Curtain  exclaimed  disgusted!] 
"I  heerd  whut  you  said  to  dat  little  gal  an'  it 
plum' insult  in'. " 

"You  better  fetch  dem  same  handcuffs  back 
night,  Skeeter, "  Prince  Total  grinned.     "  Yo' 
chance  to  insult  dat  lady  is  atter  we  nail  Deo  up  ii 
dat  box." 

"Aw,  shut  up!"  Skeeter  snapped. 

The  men  gradually  talked  themselves  out  an( 
went  away.  Skeeter  turned  to  his  one  friend  an< 
sympathizer,  Figger  Bush. 

"Figger,"  he  said,  "I's  gwine  git  even  wid 
pair  of  crooks  or  die.     Is  you  willin'  to  he'pme? 

"Suttinly, "  Figger  agreed  eagerly.     "I  thii 
dem  show  folks  done  you  powerful  bad. " 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle          207 

"We  begins  right  now,"  Skeeter  announced,  as 

got  up  and  went  back  to  a  rear  room  and  came 
ut  with  Telia's  Spitz  dog. 

"Come  out  in  front  wid  me,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
aid,  as  he  led  the  dog  out  of  the  door  and  stopped 
n  the  middle  of  the  cinder  sidewalk.  "I  want 
ou  to  hold  dis  dawg  for  me. " 

'Whut  you  gwine  do?"  Figger  inquired. 

Ts  gwine  git  back  about  fawty  feet,  take  a 
ttle  run,  an'  kick  dis  dang  dawg  so  fur  dat  de 
ex'  time  he  spits  it'll  be  in  Arkansas!"  Skeeter 
nnounced  viciously. 

Ts  wid  you!"  Figger  chuckled,  as  he  spraddled 
is  legs  and  grasped  the  Pomeranian  by  his  bushy, 
ilkytail.  " Kick  de  goal!" 

Skeeter  made  a  little  run  and  almost  kicked  a 
ole  in  the  sky.  His  right  foot  went  up  like  he 
ad  hitched  it  to  a  star.  For  the  little  dog  squatted 
nd  Skeeter  missed  him ! 

Then  the  dog  got  busy. 

He  snapped  at  Figger  and  Figger  let  go  his  tail. 

e  sunk  his  sharp  little  teeth  in  the  seat  of 
keeter's  pantaloons  and  Skeeter  went  down  the 
treet  at  full  speed,  exhausting  the  treasuries  of 
is  throat  to  vocalize  his  fright.  The  dog  held 
n  until  the  seat  of  Skeeter's  trousers  parted  com- 
>any  with  the  rest  of  the  garment  and  came  away, 
''hen  the  dog,  well  satisfied,  trotted  happily  down 
be  street,  growling  ferociously  and  stopping  at 
ntervals  to  shake  the  everlasting  stuffing  out  of 
he  piece  of  cloth  which  he  had  captured. 

Figger  Bush  lay  flat  down  upon  the  ground  and 


208          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

whooped  with  laughter  until  the  town  reverberated 
with  the  echo  of  his  hilarity  like  a  pack  of  hounds 
chasing  a  fox.  When  he  saw  Skeeter  returning,  he 
decided  it  would  be  safer  to  go  down  town  and  see 
what  time  it  was.  So  he  went. 

But  in  less  than  an  hour  Figger  returned  in  great 
excitement,  bringing  with  him  a  little,  timid  negro 
woman  with  a  tiny  baby  upon  her  arm. 

He  led  her  through  the  saloon  to  a  rear  room, 
motioning  mysteriously  to  Skeeter  as  he  passed. 
When  they  were  all  seated  at  a  table  Figger  said: 

"Now,  Mrs.  Diddle,  you  tell  dat  tale  whut  you 
jes'  told  me — dis  man  who  wants  to  listen  is 
Skeeter  Butts." 

The  woman  hesitated  a  moment,  looked  down 
fondly  at  the  tiny  bundle  on  her  breast,  and  began 
to  speak  in  a  trembling,  uneasy  voice: 

"I  come  up  here  huntin'  fer  a  nigger  named  Deal 
Diddle.  He's  my  cote-house  husbund.  Dis  is  his 
little  pickaninny  chile  I's  nursin'.  Deo,  he  gibs 
shows,  but  he's  got  kinder  keerless  an'  done  fergot 
all  about  me,  I  reckin.  So  I  come  to  rattle  up  his 
remembrunce. " 

"Yes'm, "    Skeeter    exclaimed    with    unction.1 
"Dat  wus  de  most  properest  thing  you  could  do. 
I's  shore  glad  you  foun'  me  so  prompt,  fer  I's  jes' 
de  man  to  lead  you  straight  on  to  Deo  Diddle. " 

"Dat's  fine,"  the  woman  exclaimed,  rising 
eagerly  to  her  feet.  "I  hopes  you'll  take  me  dar 
right  now. " 

"No'm,"  Skeeter  declared.  "It  cain't  be  did 
suddent  like  dat.  I  don't  know  whar  dat  nigger 


HEN-SCRATCH   SALOON  I 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

Skeeter  went  down  the  street  at  full  speed. 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle         209 

is  now,  but  he's  gwine  gib  a  show  in  dis  town  to 
night,  an'  I'll  take  good  keer  of  you  an'  dat  baby 
an'  den  lead  you  to  de  show.  Dat  is,  ef  you'll  do 
jes'  whut  I  tells  you. " 

"I  shore  will, "  the  woman  said  fervently. 

"Figger,  "  Skeeter  commanded,  "you  take  sister 
Diddle  over  to  de  Half  acre  an'  tell  ole  sister  Ginny 
Chew  to  keep  her  till  I  come  atter  her  to-night. 
Den  you  come  right  back  to  dis  saloom,  an' 
you  an'  me  will  fix  up  our  plans  fer  de  evenin' 
pufformance. " 

The  day  passed  slowly  for  Skeeter  Butts,  and 
when  the  night  came  he  occupied  a  seat  in  the 
front  row  in  the  hall  directly  in  the  center  of  the 
stage,  with  Figger  Bush  sitting  beside  him. 

None  of  the  performance  interested  Skeeter 
until  Deo  Diddle  announced  that  he  was  now 
ready  to  accomplish  the  "box  escape."  He 
challenged  the  negroes  to  provide  a  pine  box  in 
which  he  would  be  securely  nailed  and  roped 
up,  first  being  handcuffed  and  shackled  in  any 
way  the  negroes  chose.  Then  he  proposed  to 
escape,  leaving  the  box  and  the  ropes  intact. 

When  the  committee  climbed  upon  the  stage, 
Skeeter  did  not  join  them.  He  handed  a  tiny 
vial  of  liquid  to  Figger  Bush  and  said: 

"Now,  Figger,  you  go  up  dar  an'  do  exackly 
whut  I  told  you!" 

Deo  Diddle  was  carefully  handcuffed,  man 
acled,  chained,  and  bound  by  the  grinning,  laugh 
ing  negroes;  then  he  was  lifted  up  and  lowered 
carefully  into  the  box. 

14 


2io         Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

Figger  Bush  reached  for  a  hammer,  and  Telia 
Tandy  stood  by  with  a  cigar  box  full  of  long  wire 
nails,  handing  them  to  Figger  as  he  nailed  Deo  in 
the  box.  Then  Telia  produced  a  long  rope,  and 
the  husky  negroes  bound  that  box  as  a  trunk  is 
wrapped  for  a  journey.  When  all  were  satisfied 
they  stepped  back,  but  Figger  returned  for  a 
moment  and  made  another  careful  examination  of 
the  box  and  the  ropes. 

Finally  the  curtains  were  drawn  around  the 
little  booth  and  the  crowd  waited  breathlessly. 

Skeeter  Butts  arose  and  hastily  departed  from 
the  hall. 

Two  things  had  happened  to  Deo  Diddle  which 
were  sure  to  cause  him  trouble,  and  Deo  found 
it  out  instantly. 

First,  Figger  Bush  had  nailed  Deo's  coat-tail 
to  the  top  of  the  box.  And  second,  when  Figger 
went  back  to  examine  the  box  a  second  time  he  had 
emptied  a  small  bottle  of  formaldehyde  into  one 
of  the  air-holes ! 

If  there  is  one  chemical  fluid  with  which  the 
inhabitants  of  Louisiana,  white  and  black,  are 
familiar,  it  is  that  colorless,  volatile  liquid,  chemi 
cally  intermediate  between  methyl  alcohol  and 
formic  acid,  called  formaldehyde.  It  has  an  odor 
which  suggests  all  the  dead  and  decaying  things 
of  earth,  animal  and  vegetable,  all  the  putrefac 
tion  and  corruption  imaginable.  When  a  man 
gets  a  whiff  of  it  for  the  first  time,  he  kneels  down 
right  there  and  prays  to  die — he  doesn't  want  to 
live  another  second  with  that  stench  in  his  nostrils, 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle         211 

It  is  the  supreme  germicide  and  disinfectant  of 
every  yellow-fever  epidemic,  which  accounts  for 
Louisiana's  close  and  intimate  acquaintance  with 
it.  Any  self-respecting  yellow-fever  germ  will 
instantly  tuck  his  tail  and  scoot  when  he  gets  a 
good  smell  of  that  gosh-awful  disinfectant. 

But  formaldehyde  was  a  preparation  with 
which  Deo  Diddle  was  not  acquainted. 

Figger  Bush,  listening  intently,  heard  sounds 
which  resembled  those  made  by  a  dog  having  a  fit 
in  a  cigar  box  and  knocking  his  feet  against  the 
box  on  all  sides.  Then  Figger  heard  a  loud  pant 
ing  like  a  worn-out  engine  pulling  a  grade  with  a 
log-train.  After  that,  a  moan,  which  deepened 
into  a  hoarse  cry;  then  Deo  Diddle  lost  hold  of 
himself  completely  and  began  a  hideous  sort  of 
sharp  yelping  like  a  dog. 

"Hel-lup!  Hel-lup!  Fer  Gawd's  sake " 

he  screamed. 

But  long  before  this  Telia  Tandy  had  torn 
the  curtains  aside  and  was  fighting  the  box  with 
her  hands,  trying  to  let  in  the  air. 

Skeeter  Butts,  standing  by  the  door  at  the  side 
entrance  with  Mrs.  Deo  Diddle  and  the  baby, 
heard  the  excitement  and  the  screaming,  and 
grinned  with  delight. 

"Come  on,  sister  Diddle,"  Skeeter  exclaimed 
exultantly.  "I'll  show  you  yo'  kind,  good  hus- 
bunt  now.  Us  is  got  him  in  a  box!" 

He  led  her  through  the  side  entrance  to  the 
stage  just  as  Vinegar  Atts  struck  the  pine  box  a 
heavy  blow  with  the  ax,  cut  the  ropes,  knocked  off 


212          Monarch  of  the  Manacle 

the  top,  and  lifted  the  half -unconscious,  and  wholly 
terrified  Handcuff  King  out  of  the  box,  his  coat- 
tail  nailed  securely,  his  hands  and  ankles  still 
manacled,  and  the  bottom  of  the  box  containing 
dozens  of  keys  which  Deo  had  dropped  in  his 
eagerness  and  haste  to  escape! 

In  the  meantime,  the  entire  audience  had  taken 
its  departure.  Even  Vinegar  Atts  left  after  he 
released  the  formaldehyde  with  the  magician. 
There  was  no  attraction  on  the  stage  which 
could  enable  them  to  endure  that  dreadful  odor. 
Figger  Bush  lingered  around  the  front  door,  stick 
ing  his  head  out  at  intervals  to  get  a  breath  of 
pure  air. 

"Dat's  him!"  Skeeter  exclaimed  dramatically, 
as  he  pointed  to  the  drooping  form  of  Deo  Diddle, 
who  was  rapidly  reviving,  although  he  still  hung 
to  the  shattered  box  by  his  coat-tail.  "Dat's 
de  villyum  whut  is  done  run  off  from  his  wife  an' 
chile  an'  tuck  up  wid  anodder  woman ! " 

"Who — him!"  Mrs.  Diddle  exclaimed,  pointing 
to  the  performer.  "Huh — dat  ain't  my  husbant — 
his  name  is  Jim  Tom  Wyatt!" 

Then  she  turned  and  faced  the  frightened  Telia 
Tandy. 

"Hello,  Telia!"  she  exclaimed.  "Whar  is 
Deo?" 

"He  got  drunk  in  Kerlerac  an'  fit  a  white  man  to 
a  shirt-tail  finish  an'  de  jedge  put  him  in  jail  fer 
f awty  days, ' '  Telia  explained.  "  Me  an'  Jim  Tom  is 
tryin'  to  carry  on  de  show  till  Deo  gits  out,  an', 
of  co'se,  Jim  Tom  is  usin'  Deo's  name." 


Monarch  of  the  Manacle         213 

"Bar  now,  Skeeter  Butts!"  Mrs.  Diddle  ex 
claimed.  "Whut  you  lie  to  me  fer?" 

' '  Did  dat  little  yeller  debbil  hab  anything  to  do 
wid  dis?"  Telia  asked,  pointing  at  Skeeter 's  face. 

"Of  co'se  he  did!"  Mrs.  Diddle  exclaimed. 
"He  done  it  all!" 

Telia  Tandy  promptly  wrenched  off  a  piece  of 
the  shattered  box  about  two  feet  long  and  three 
inches  wide,  and  gave  Skeeter  a  resounding  slap 
across  the  jaw. 

Skeeter  reeled  backward,  stumbled  down  the 
steps,  and  fled  out  into  the  street. 

Figger  watched  the  people  on  the  stage  for  a 
minute,  then  hastened  down  the  street  after 
Skeeter.  He  found  his  friend  sitting  on  a  curb 
stone  nursing  a  bloody  face. 

"Dey  done  me  up,  Figger,"  Skeeter  mourned. 
"I  never  seed  de  beat  of  show-folks  fer  fust-rate 
brains.  Even  dat  Spit  dawg  is  smarter  dan  me!" 

"Whut  is  us  gwine  do  nex',  Skeeter?"  Bush 
asked  sympathetically. 

"I's  gwine  to  de  cote-house  an*  hab  dat  Telia 
Tandy  arrested  fer  assault  an*  battery!"  Skeeter 
exclaimed  revengefully. 

Figger  sighed  pitifully. 

"'Twon't  do  you  no  good,  Skeeter,"  Figger 
informed  him.  "You  can't  git  her  fer  nothin'  but 
assault." 

"How  come?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"Atter  she  hit  you  dat  whale  across  de  face," 
Figger  explained,  "I  saw  her  take  de  ax  an'  chop 
dat  battery  all  to  little  pieces!" 


All  is  Fair. 


THE  HORSE  RACE. 

SHIN  BONE  needed  money  badly.  He  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  by  the  old  cotton  shed, 
his  feet  in  the  gutter  and  his  head  resting  upon 
his  hands,  and  did  the  heaviest  thinking  of  his 
whole  thoughtless  life. 

''I'd  rob  Marse  Tom's  bank  ef  I  jes*  knowed 
how, "  he  said,  speaking  aloud  to  himself. 

Then  he  wondered  if  he  had  spoken  too  loud,  for 
Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill  stopped  directly  behind 
him  in  his  walk  to  the  bank,  and  surveyed  with 
amusement  a  number  of  gaudy  lithographs  which 
had  been  pasted  upon  the  side  of  the  cotton 
shed. 

Shin  Bone  sat  perfectly  quiet  until  he  had 
assured  himself  that  Gaitskill  had  not  overheard 
him,  then  a  shrewd  look  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
rose  to  his  feet.  Taking  a  corn-cob  pipe  from  his 
pocket,  he  filled  it  with  tobacco,  and  edged  up 
closer  to  the  white  man. 

"When  is  de  succus  gwine  be,  Marse  Tom?" 
214 


"F 

* 


All  is  Fair  215 

asked,  as  he  struck  a  match  and  applied  the  flame 
to  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"This  is  no  circus,  Shin, "  Gaitskill  said  shortly. 
"Where  have  you  been  all  the  time?  Haven't 
you  heard  anything  about  the  nigger  uplift  ? ' ' 

Every  negro  knows  the  advantage  which  accrues 
to  himself  from  letting  the  white  man  tell  him. 
Carefully  concealing  the  fact  that  these  same 
gaudy  lithographs  had  caused  his  grief  over  his 
poverty,  Shin  said: 

"Naw,  suh — yes,  suh.  De  white  folks  is  always 
doin'  somepin  to  us  niggers.  But  I  cain't  figger 
out  dese  shiny  new  bills  on  dis  wall. " 

"Those  lithographs  announce  a  negro  fair  at 
the  old  race  track,"  Colonel  Gaitskill  told  him. 
"There  will  be  prizes  for  all  kinds  of  garden  truck 
and  field  crops,  prizes  for  chickens,  pigs,  and  cattle, 
prizes  for  draft  horses,  carriage  horses,  and  all 
kinds  of  horses.  Admission  is  free  for  all  the 
negroes,  all  the  exhibits  will  be  by  the  negroes, 
and  the  white  folks  are  financing  the  fair  for  the 
benefit  of  the  negroes.  " 

' '  Dat  shore  will  be  a  lift-up, "  Shin  Bone  grinned, 
as  he  gazed  with  admiration  at  the  pictures  of 
the  running  horses.  "Does  us  be  allowed  to  had 
races,  too?" 

"Yes,  there'll  be  speed  exhibits,"  Gaitskill 
smiled.  "But  every  negro  who  enters  a  horse  for 
a  race  must  own  the  horse. " 

1 '  Dat 's  right, ' '  Shin  Bone  agreed  heartily.  ' '  Ef 
dat's  de  rule,  de  niggers  cain't  borry  no  real  race 
hosses  an'  git  all  our  money  away  from  us. " 


216  All  is  Fair 

"Betting  will  not  be  permitted,"  Gaitskill 
remarked,  watching  Shin  Bone  closely.  "That 
is  against  the  law. " 

"Huh,"  Shin  Bone  grunted,  and  the  tone  of  his 
voice  and  the  expression  on  his  face  were  those  of  a 
baby  just  tuning  up  to  cry.  But  Gaitskill  checked 
the  deluge  of  tears  by  his  next  remark : 

"Of  course,  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  sport 
of  kings  must  not  be  allowed  to  die  out  entirely, 
and  if  a  few  bets  are  made  on  the  quiet,  it  is 
nobody's  business.  I  am  sure  every  darky  will 
put  down  a  dollar  or  two  just  to  try  his  luck.  " 

"Huh,"  Shin  Bone  grunted,  and  this  time  the 
tone  of  his  voice  and  the  expression  on  his  face 
set  Gaitskill  to  laughing  merrily. 

"Dat's  de  only  spote  whut  will  fetch  de  niggers 
to  even  a  free  fair,  Marse  Tom.  Dey  ain't  comin' 
here  jes'  to  show  deir  spindle-laig  chickens  an'  deir 
little  runt  pigs.  Dey  wants  to  action  aroun'  wid 
de  ponies." 

"I  think  you're  right,  Shin,"  Gaitskill  grinned. 
"I've  been  going  to  fairs  ever  since  I  was  old 
enough  to  stand  on  the  seat  and  yell,  but  I  never 
could  get  up  any  interest  or  enthusiasm  for  any 
thing  except  the  slim  horses  which  galloped  swiftly 
around  the  circular  track. " 

"Ain't  you  spoke  de  jaw-breakin'  truth!"  Shin 
Bone  applauded.  "Eve'y  nigger  whut  comes  to 
dis  fair  will  hab  his  cotton-fiel '  pet  bang-tailed  an* 
trained  fer  de  races!  Marse  Tom,  ain't  you  got 
no  cheap,  spry-legged  hoss  you  wants  to  sell  me?" 

"  No ! "     Gaitskill  walked  on. 


All  is  Fair  217 

"Whut  'bout  dat  pie-faced  sorrel,  Kunnel?" 
Shin  persisted,  following  a  few  steps  behind. 

"How  many  races  do  you  think  you  could  win 
with  a  horse  which  had  been  bitten  on  the  leg  by  a 
swamp  rattlesnake?"  Gaitskill  asked  disgustedly. 

"Not  such  a  many,"  Shin  remarked,  in  a  dis 
appointed  tone.  "Of  co'se,  dat  leg  mougtit  git 
well " 

"The  horse  is  ruined,  Shin,"  Gaitskill  told  him. 
"That  leg  will  always  be  stiff." 

Shin  Bone  stopped,  watched  the  colonel  until  he 
turned  the  corner,  then  he  returned  to  the  gaudy 
lithographs  and  resumed  his  former  position  on 
the  curb,  dropping  down  in  an  attitude  of  dejec 
tion  and  deep  meditation. 

"Marse  Tom  oughter  had  sold  me  dat  hoss, " 
he  sighed.  '  *  My  credick  wid  him  oughter  be  good. 
He  knows  I  had  plenty  money  in  his  bank  las' 
mont'  an'  drawed  it  all  out  to  buy  dat  eatin'-house. 
Of  co'se,  I  couldn't  win  nothin'  wid  dat  cripple 
hoss,  but  I  might  could  swap  him  off  fer  somepin 
dat  I  could  win  wid. " 

Shin  Bone  refilled  his  pipe,  dug  his  heels  deeper 
in  the  soft  loam  of  the  gutter,  rubbed  his  chin 
reflectively,  and  gazed  across  the  street  with 
troubled,  brooding  eyes. 

"Dat  little  gal  got  me  in  dis  jam,"  he  announced 
finally. 

Of  course  there  was  a  girl  in  it. 

After  meeting  her,  Shin  Bone  bought  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  a  cake  of  sweet-scented  soap,  three  white 
shirts,  and  a  bankrupt  restaurant,  fondly  hoping 


218  All  is  Fair 

that  personal  cleanliness,  personal  adornment,  and 
the  ownership  of  property  would  help  him  per 
suade  the  girl  to  make  up  her  mind  to  live  with 
him.  But  alas,  the  four  hundred  dollars  which  he 
had  in  the  bank  were  spent  before  he  got  started, 
and  now  the  fair  was  on  with  a  chance  to  make  big 
winnings,  and  Shin  Bone  was  broke ! 

"Jes'  when  I  wus  gittin'  ready  to  ax  her,  I  went 
bust,"  Shin  groaned.  "  Jes'  when  she  done  got  her 
mind  encouraged  up  to  take  me,  my  little  dab  of 
money  gib  out." 

Yes,  Shin  needed  money. 

He  began  to  search  his  clothes  for  money,  feeling 
in  every  pocket.  He  brought  forth  one  silver  dol 
lar  and  one  copper  cent. 

"I  didn't  make  no  new  discovery, "  he  lamented, 
as  he  surveyed  his  earthly  fortune.  "I  knowed  I 
had  dis  money  already." 

He  placed  the  dollar  on  the  curb  beside  him  and 
laid  the  copper  cent  on  top  of  the  silver  coin,  survey 
ing  them  disconsolately.  Glancing  down  at  his 
feet,  he  observed  a  tiny  red  earthworm  crawling 
in  the  loam  of  the  gutter.  He  picked  this  up  and 
laid  it  on  top  of  the  copper  coin,  thus  making  a 
pyramid  of  his  fortune. 

"Huh,"  he  grunted,  "I'd  rather  be  a  fishin' 
worm  dan  a  nigger  wid  one  dollar  an'  one  cent. " 

Suddenly  he  looked  at  the  fishing  worm  with  a 
new  interest.  It  was  twisting  and  turning  upon 
the  copper  coin  evidently  wishing  to  get  off,  but 
every  time  it  touched  the  silver  dollar  it  retreat 
to  the  copper  coin  again. 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

The  pie-faced  sorrel  with  the  snake-bitten  leg. 


220  All  is  Fair 

"Three  bosses  starts  in  de  fourth  race.  Put  yo* 
bet  on  Skipper." 

"I  shore  thank  you  fer  dem  few  kind  words, 
Pap,"  Shin  declared  with  delight.  "How  come 
yo'  heart  busted  open  so  free?" 

"Ain't  you  figgerin'  on  gittin'  married  to  my 
sister's  child?"  Pap  asked. 

"Suttinly." 

"Well,  suh,  dat's  de  reason.  But  fer  Gawd's 
sake,  keep  de  secret  in  de  fambly!" 


II 


SKIPPER'S  FORM. 


"Dat  shore  he'ps  me  a  lot,"  Shin  exulted,  as  he 
started  rapidly  down  the  street.  "All  I'm  got  to 
do  is  to  bet  on  dat  hoss  fer  a  winner." 

Then  his  rapid  gait  suddenly  ceased,  his  knees 
wabbled  weakly,  and  he  leaned  against  a  conven 
ient  picket  fence. 

"O  Lawd, "  he  groaned.  "Dat  jes'  makes  my 
sorrer  cut  mo'  deeper.  I  ain't  got  no  mo'  money  to 
bet  wid  now  dan  I  had  befo'  I  got  dat  tip!" 

Sadly  he  turned  his  back  to  the  fair  and  walked 
in  the  opposite  direction,  mumbling  to  himself. 

"Dat's  always  my  luck, "  he  mourned.  "Ef  it 
rains  soup  my  plate  is  turned  upside  down,  an'  ef 
gold  dollars  draps  down  from  de  sky,  I'm  shore  to 
be  locked  up  in  jail. " 

He  passed  along  the  ever-lengthening  stream  of 
negroes  going  to  the  races. 


All  is  Fair  221 

"Look  at  Shinny  goin*  back  to  dig  up  some  mo' 
of  his  buried  money,"  was  the  common  greeting 
of  every  group  of  friends  he  met.  "Somebody  is 
been  talkin'  to  Shin  about  some  hoss,  an'  tellin' 
ain't  no  fair!" 

Shin  scanned  every  face  as  a  panhandler 
watches  the  crowd  on  the  street  looking  for  some 
easy  mark  from  whom  he  can  extract  a  "tempo 
rary"  loan,  but  there  was  no  face  which  indicated 
that  the  owner  was  willing  to  part  with  even  a 
little  of  his  money  in  behalf  of  an  impecunious 
friend.  Each  one  would  have  promised  him  all  he 
wanted — after  the  races.  • 

At  last  Shin  met  the  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts. 

"Elder,"  he  began,  "I  think  I  done  got  a  tail- 
holt  on  somepin'  mighty  good  an'  I  been  lookin'  fer 
you." 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  right,  son,"  Vinegar  boomed. 
"Of  co'se,  I  ain't  no  gamblin'  man  myse'f,  an' 
don't  b'lieve  in  it,  but  I  likes  to  hear  tips  so  I  kin 
know  whut  hoss  to  watch. " 

"Is  you  got  any  change  on  you,  elder?"  Shin 
asked  eagerly. 

"A  few,  a  measly  few!"  Vinegar  rumbled. 
"Whut  hoss  did  you  say?" 

"I  ain't  say, "  Shin  replied. 

"Why  don't  you  bawl  out?"  Vinegar  bellowed. 
"I  cain't  stand  here  on  my  foots  all  day!  Git  yo' 
mouf  gwine!" 

"You  an'  me  oughter  make  a  trade,  elder," 
Shin  said.  "I  got  de  idear  an'  you  is  got  de  chink. 
You  gimme  all  de  money  you  is  got,  an'  I'll  'tend 


222  All  is  Fair 

to  dat  part  of  it  while  you  watches  de  hosses 
gallop." 

"I's  skeart  you'll  lose  my  dollars, "  Vinegar  said 
uneasily,  fumbling  the  change  in  his  voluminous 
pockets.  "Mebbe  you  better  tell  me  fust  whut 
kind  of  tip  you  is  got. " 

"Pap  Curtain  tole  me  to  bet  on  Skipper  in  de 
fourth  race,"  Shin  said  earnestly.  "Don't  you 
think  dat  is  a  good  tip?" 

Vinegar  turned  and  walked  away  a  few  steps, 
then  turned  and  walked  back.  His  hands  were 
thrust  deep  into  his  trouser  pockets  and  his  chin 
was  sunk  down  upon  his  breast. 

"Naw,  dat  ain't  no  good  tip  a-tall !"  he  exploded. 
' '  Pap  Curtain  is  a  slick-head  nigger,  as  full  of  tricks 
as  a  monkey  wid  a  tin  tail.  I  don't  hab  no  trust 
in  him  no-time,  no-whar,  no-how !  You  better  gib 
dat  Skipper  de  go-by. " 

"Pap  ain't  tryin'  to  fool  me,  Vinegar,"  Shin 
Bone  protested.  "I's  gwine  marry  his  sister's 
onlies'  chile,  an'  so  me  an'  him  is  in  de  same 
fambly.  Excusin'  dat,  dis  Skipper  hoss  b' longs  to 
my  gal's  maw.  Dat  proves  he  ain't  tryin'  to  rob 


me." 


"You  ain't  on  to  Pap  Curtain's  curves  yit, 
Shin,"  Vinegar  told  him.  "Pap  would  steal  de 
gold  outen  his  granmaw's  jaw  toofs,  ef  de  ole 
woman  had  any  toofs  in  her  gums.  Excusin'  dat, 
Pap  don't  expeck  you  to  lose  no  money.  He 
knows  you  ain't  got  none." 

"Dat's  a  fack,"  Shin  admitted. 

"He  knowed  you  would  git  active  an'  succulate 


All  is  Fair  223 

de  tip, "  Vinegar  told  him.  ' '  He  knowed  you'd  git 
aroun'  an'  try  to  borrer  some  money,  an'  tell  all  de 
niggers  you  touched  fer  a  few  change  whut  hoss  to 
bet  on,  an'  he  knowed  dat  eve'y  nigger  in  Tickfall 
would  fall  fer  de  losin'  hoss.  I  bet  Pap's  got  all  his 
money  on  de  yuther  hoss  right  dis  minute!" 

"I  don't  b'lieve  Pap  would  treat  me  dat  way, 
Vinegar,"  Shin  insisted.  "He  tole  me  not  to  tell 
nobody,  because  he  wanted  to  keep  de  secret  in  de 
fambly." 

"Did  he  know  you  wus  broke?"  Vinegar  asked. 

"Yep.  I  tried  to  borrer  some  money  from  him 
dis  mawnin'." 

"Ef  he  loves  you  so  awful  much,  how  come  he 
didn't  loant  you  some  money  an'  let  you  win  an' 
gib  you  a  start  fer  de  yuther  days  of  racin'?" 

"Dat  do  look  like  he  ain't  actin'  plum'  honest, " 
Shin  admitted  reluctantly.  "But,  you  see,  it's 
dis  way,  Vinegar:  niggers  wants  to  manage  deir 
own  money  endurin'  of  de  fair. " 

"Dat's  whut  I's  gwine  do, "  Vinegar  told  him  in 
a  pompous  voice.  ' '  Dat  bait  you  dangles  down  in 
front  my  nose  am  pretty  temptin'  to  a  sucker,  but 
you  done  showed  me  too  much  of  de  hook.  Ex- 
cusin'  dat,  I  jes'  remembers  dat  I's  been  app'inted 
de  officious  starter  at  de  races,  an'  shouldn't  ough- 
ter  bet  on  no  hoss!" 

Vinegar  resumed  his  walk  toward  the  fair 
grounds,  leaving  Shin  Bone  to  ponder  what  he  had 
heard. 

"I  b'lieves  dat  Pap  Curtain  is  totin'  fair  wid 
me,"  he  concluded  at  last.  "My  onlies'  hope  is 


224  All  is  Fair 

to  pussuade  some  yuther  nigger  to  b'lieve  de  same 
way  an'  put  up  de  dough.  I  reckin  I  better  git 
busy." 

Shin  met  Hitch  Diamond  and  presented  his 
proposition  to  him.  Hitch  laughed  at  him. 

"Three  hosses  starts  in  dat  race,  Shin,"  Hitch 
chuckled.  "Doodlebug  b'longs  to  Pap  Curtain, 
Skipper  b'longs  to  Pap's  sister,  an'  de  yuther  hoss 
is  de  plug  whut  Prince  Total  drives  to  his  trash 
cart  when  he  cleans  up  dis  town.  Now,  kin 
you  tell  me  which  one  of  Pap's  two  hosses  is  de 
winner?" 

Shin  did  not  answer. 

"I  ain't  bettin'  on  nothin'  in  de  fourth  race," 
Hitch  rumbled,  as  he  walked  away.  "I  ain't  got 
spry  enough  brains  to  f oiler  Pap's  tricks. " 

Time  was  passing  and  Shin  realized  that  he  must 
get  some  sort  of  action  promptly.  He  turned 
toward  the  portion  of  the  town  occupied  by  the 
whites,  and  with  renewed  hope  began  to  solicit 
loans  from  his  white  friends.  After  an  hour  of 
activity,  running  from  place  to  place  as  busy  as  a 
bird  dog,  he  was  in  possession  of  fifty  cents,  and 
had  told  about  fifty  different  lies  to  get  that 
much. 

"Dar  ain't  but  one  mo'  hope,"  he  said,  as  he 
eyed  with  disgust  the  handful  of  nickels  he  had 
accumulated.  "Dat  hope  is  Skeeter  Butts.  Ef 
he  don't  see  de  light,  den  de  night  is  done  sottled 
down  on  me  shore  enough." 

With  eager  steps  he  hastened  to  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon. 


All  is  Fair  225 

III 

DEEP  LAID  PLANS. 

Shin  found  Skeeter  Butts  sitting  behind  the  bar 
in  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  counting  a  roll  of  soiled 
and  poisonous-looking  money.  The  sight  glad 
dened  the  eyes  of  the  poverty-stricken  negro. 

"Skeeter, "  he  exulted,  "dat  little  wad  of  money 
shows  dat  you  an'  me  is  gwine  to  git  rich." 

"How  come?"  Skeeter  asked.  "You  ain't  got 
no  claimance  on  dis  wad. " 

"I'se  got  one  real  good  tip." 

"Explode  it  in  my  y-ear, "  Skeeter  exclaimed 
eagerly. 

"Pap  Curtain  say  bet  on  Skipper." 

Skeeter  grinned,  snickered,  chuckled,  laughed. 
He  stood  up,  turned  around,  sat  down  again,  and 
laughed  louder. 

"Ain't  dat  no  good  tip?"  Shin  asked. 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  a  dandy,"  Skeeter  proclaimed. 
"All  dat  tip  signifies  to  me  is,  don't  lose  no  money 
on  Skipper." 

"You  don't  onderstan'  'bout  dis,  Skeeter,"  Shin 
said  earnestly.  "You  see,  I  is  about  to  marrify 
into  Pap  Curtain's  fambly,  an'  he  jes'  passed  me  de 
news  fer  my  own  good. " 

"Who  is  you  gwine  take  on? "  Skeeter  asked. 

"Dat  little  charcoal  blonde  named  Whiffle 
Boone, "  Shin  told  him.  "An'  dis  Skipper  hoss 
belongs  to  her  maw. " 

"Huh,"  Skeeter  grunted.     "Mebbe  dat's  diffunt 

15 


226  All  is  Fair 

an'  mebbe  not.  How  much  change  is  you  got  to 
bet?" 

"I  ain't  got  none,"  Shin  replied  sadly.  "I 
wants  to  borrer  a  leetle.  I'll  gib  you  a  owe-bill 
agin'  my  ea  tin '-house  ef  you'll  loant  me  some. " 

Skeeter  weighed  this  for  a  minute,  then  said : 

"Us '11  fix  it  dis  way,  Shin:  I'll  loant  you  fifty 
dollars  on  yo'  eatin' -house,  pervided  you'll  let  me 
handle  de  money  an'  manage  de  bets.  I  jes' 
nachelly  hates  to  pass  out  money  to  anodder 
coon." 

"Dat's  all  right,  Skeeter,"  Shin  declared,  a 
burden  lifted  from  his  heart.  "All  I  wants  is  a 
chance  to  win." 

"I's  gittin'  ready  to  close  up  right  now, "  Skeeter 
said,  as  he  reached  for  his  hat.  "Us'll  mosey  out 
to  de  track  togedder. " 

They  entered  the  gate  to  find  the  grounds 
thronged  with  happy,  eager,  black  faces,  shiny  with 
sweat.  The  band  was  playing,  the  peanut  roasters 
were  shrieking,  and  dozens  of  apron-clad,  thunder- 
voiced  negroes  waved  long-handled  forks  and 
howled  like  a  wolf -pack.  "Hot — hot — hot-dog!" 

' '  Lawdy, ' '  Shin  sighed.  ' '  My  empty  stomick  is 
wropped  aroun'  my  backbone  like  a  wet  dishrag 
aroun'  a  dryin'-pole.  I  feel  like  I  ain't  et  fer  fawty 
days!" 

He  promptly  separated  himself  from  Skeeter 
Butts  and  lost  no  time  in  finding  Whiffle  Boone. 

"Is  you  had  somepin  to  eat  sence  you  got  out 
here,  Whiffle?"  he  asked  eagerly. 


All  is  Fair  227 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  but  a  smell  of  dem  hot 
dogs/'  she  smiled. 

"Dis  is  whar  we  chews  a  few, "  Shin  declared,  as 
he  led  her  away  from  the  grandstand. 

"Whut  wus  you  so  snippy  about  when  I  met  you 
uptown?"  Whiffle  inquired  as  they  consumed  the 
sausage  which  Shin  purchased  with  the  money  he 
had  begged  from  the  white  folks  of  Tickfall. 

"I  wus  figgerin'  on  how  to  git  a  bet  down  on  a 
winnin'  hoss,  honey,"  Shin  laughed.  "It  'peared 
like  I  couldn't  make  de  riffle,  an'  when  I  seed  you 
I  had  on  one  of  dese  here  grouches. " 

"Ain't  it  about  time  you  wus  bustin'  de  news?" 
Whiffle  asked.  ' '  Cain't  you  tell  me  de  name  of  de 
hoss?" 

"No'm, "  Shin  grinned.  "I  done  promise  I 
wouldn't  say  no  words.  But  ef  you  wait  fer  me 
atter  de  races  is  over  I'll  take  you  to  a  real  eatin'- 
house  an'  us  11  celebrate  our  winnin 's.  We  ain't 
fur  from  git  tin'  married  now  an'  I's  savin'  somepin 
fer  a  surprise." 

The  gong  sounded  at  the  starter's  shed,  and 
Whiffle  and  Shin  walked  toward  the  grandstand, 
eating  hot  sausage  as  they  went. 

"Whut  race  is  dis,  Whiffle?"  Shin  inquired. 

"Dis  is  de  fourth,"  Whiffle  told  him.  "My 
uncle  Pap  Curtain  is  got  a  couple  hosses  in  dis 
race." 

Shin  Bone  promptly  lost  his  appetite. 

"Lawd, "  he  exclaimed.  "I  asked  Skeeter 
Butts  to  put  a  few  money  on  dis  race  fer  me.  I 
hope  he  is  got  time." 


228  All  is  Fair 

"Plenty  time/'  Whiffle  declared.  "De  ponies 
ain't  come  out  on  de  track  yit. " 

At  that  moment  Shin  saw  Skeeter  Butts  sliding 
eel-like  through  a  dense  crowd  without  touching 
an  elbow.  A  few  minutes  later  he  saw  Skeeter 
again,  talking  earnestly  to  certain  dressy,  furtive 
persons,  bearing  every  evidence  of  being  visitors 
from  New  Orleans,  and  these  men  displayed  tiny 
celluloid  slates  on  which  were  penciled  various 
fractions  after  the  name  of  each  horse. 

Three  horses  galloped  up  the  track  and  Shin 
looked  them  over  carefully,  concluding  that  the 
horse  which  carried  his  money  was  the  only  race 
horse  of  the  three.  Trailer  was  a  clumsy  plow- 
horse;  Doodlebug  was  a  Tuckapoo  mustang  with 
an  ugly  temper;  Skipper  alone  had  the  long,  gray- 
hound  lines  of  the  real  racer. 

"Whut  hoss  is  you  got  yo'  money  on,  Shin?" 
Whiffle  asked. 

"I  bets  on  Skipper." 

1  'My  gosh!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  staring  at  him 
with  big  eyes.  "Is  you  done  loss  all  yo'  good 
sense?" 

"Pap  Curtain  tole  me  to  bet  on  Skipper, "  Shin 
said  defensively. 

"Pap  is  like  a  mule,  Shin,"  Whiffle  said  sadly. 
"He  wucks  bofe  ways.  You  gotter  look  out  fer 
surprises  when  you  monkeys  wid  Pap." 

The  band  stopped  playing,  the  intense  silence  of 
the  people  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  pounding 
hoofs,  and  the  horses  swept  under  the  wire. 

"Go!"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed. 


All  is  Fair  229 

The  blood  pounded  in  the  temples  of  Shin  Bone, 
and  he  suddenly  felt  dizzy,  almost  delirious.  Then 
he  sat  down,  gasping  like  a  landed  fish.  Doodle 
bug  was  three  lengths  ahead,  running  with  the  ease 
and  regularity  of  a  watch. 

Skipper  was  dropping  behind  without  even  a 
symptom  of  a  rally.  At  the  half-mile  post,  Skip 
per  was  slowing  up  some  more,  showing  weariness. 
Slower  and  slower  he  got  in  spite  of  the  frantic 
efforts  of  his  jockey  to  extract  some  speed  from  his 
mount's  system. 

Fairly  stunned,  Shin  sat  down  and  waited  for  the 
end.  After  what  seemed  to  him  an  age  or  two, 
Doodlebug  came  under  the  wire,  and  a  yellow, 
freckled-faced  negro  boy  with  an  inadequate 
knowledge  of  spelling  climbed  a  short  ladder  and 
inscribed  upon  a  blackboard  the  names  of  the  three 
horses  in  the  order  of  their  places  in  the  race : 

DUDDLEBUG 

TRAYLOR 

SKIPER 

There  was  a  little  scattering  applause,  but  the 
crowd  could  get  up  no  enthusiasm  for  such  an 
exhibition,  and  few  had  bet  upon  a  r/>ce  in  which 
the  tricky  Pap  Curtain  had  entered  two  horses. 

Whiffle  Boone  turned  and  glared  at  Shin,  who 
sat  dazed  and  crumpled  on  the  bench. 

' '  Wus  dat  de  news  you  wus  gwine  bust  to  me  as  a 
surprise,  Shin?"  she  demanded  sarcastically. 

"Good-bye,  honey,"  Shin  said  gloomily,  as  he 


230  All  is  Fair 

rose  to  his  feet  and  staggered  toward  the  exit.  ' '  I 
ain't  in  no  mind  to  argufy  about  surprises  now.  I 
done  got  one  myse'f. " 

"Whut  'bout  dat  supper  we  wus  gwine  hab?" 
Whiffle  asked. 

"Honey,  I  couldn't  buy  a  sandsquich  wid  a  bad 
dime,"  Shin  told  her  tearfully.  "I  ain't  got 
nothin'  dat  even  looks  like  money. " 

IV 

THE  LAME  SORREL. 

Shin  hunted  all  over  the  fair  grounds  for  Skeeter 
Butts  without  being  able  to  find  him. 

"I  knows  whut  ails  dat  nigger, "  he  said  to  him 
self,  at  last.  "He's  done  gone  back  to  de  Hen- 
Scratch  an'  he's  waitin'  fer  me  to  come.  I  ain't 
gwine!  Dar  ain't  nothin'  mo'  fer  me  to  win  but  a 
argumint.  I  done  made  dat  nigger  lose  all  his 
money  an'  if  he  gits  me  shet  up  in  dat  saloon,  he'll 
kill  me." 

He  walked  out  of  the  gate  and  went  straight  to 
the  bank,  knocking  upon  the  door  of  the  president's 
office. 

A  voice  within  answered,  and  Shin  turned  the 
knob  and  entered. 

"Marse  Tom, "  he  began,  "ain't  you  got  no  job 
fer  a  strong,  willin'  nigger?" 

"Sure,"  Colonel  Gaitskill  said.  "But  I  don't 
believe  any  nigger  is  willing  to  work  while  a  free 
fair  is  going  on  out  at  the  race- track." 


All  is  Fair  231 

"I  done  got  enough  fair,  Marse  Tom, "  Shin  said 
solemnly.  "I  loves  hosses,  but  I  ain't  wise  to 
nothin'  about  'em  excusin'  how  to  feed  'em,  water 
'em,  an'  rub  'em  down." 

"You  wanted  me  to  sell  you  a  race-horse  this 
morning,"  Gaitskill  reminded  him  smilingly. 

"Yes,  suh.  But  you  knowed  I  didn't  had  no 
money  to  pay  fer  no  hoss, "  Shin  grinned.  "I  wus 
jes'  talkin'  wid  my  mouf.  But  I  shore  would  like 
to  hab  a  job  wuckin'  wid  hosses. " 

"All  right,"  Gaitskill  agreed.  "Go  out  and 
potter  around  my  stable.  Three  dollars  a  week 
and  feed. " 

"Thank  'e,  suh.     Dat  shore  suits  fine. " 

"And  listen,  Shin.  Go  out  to  the  bayou  pasture 
and  bring  in  that  pie-faced  sorrel  you  wanted  to 
buy.  That's  a  good  saddler.  See  if  you  can 
doctor  him  up  some  way  and  limber  up  that  snake- 
bitten  leg." 

Shin  had  to  pass  along  the  road  which  led  to  the 
Hen-Scratch  saloon  on  his  way  to  the  bayou  pas 
ture,  but  he  took  a  wide  detour  when  he  came  to 
that  place  of  danger,  walking  through  the  fields 
until  he  came  back  to  the  road  at  a  bend  a  half  mile 
further  on. 

Slipping  a  bridle  on  the  crippled  horse,  he  leaped 
lightly  upon  his  back,  and  rode  toward  the  gate. 
The  weeds  grew  rank  and  high  in  that  rich  bottom 
land,  and  multitudes  of  insects  arose  from  the 
vegetation  and  whirled  around  the  heads  of  the 
horse  and  his  rider. 

Suddenly  a  large  grasshopper  whirred  up  from 


232  All  is  Fair 

the  weeds  and  flew  past  the  sorrel's  ear  with  a 
sharp,  rattling,  whining  sound — "Zee-e-e-e. " 

With  a  snort  of  fright  the  horse  sprang  forward 
and  ran  like  a  rabbit  all  around  the  field,  while  Shin 
yelled  and  wrenched  at  the  bridle,  and  begged  the 
sorrel  to  "Whoa!" 

In  a  few  minutes  the  sorrel  spilled  Shin  off  anc 
ran  far  back  into  the  woods. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Shin  captured  him  again 
and  rode  back  to  Tickf  all.  The  long  run  had  made 
the  horse  lame. 

Passing  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  Shin  tried  to  get 
a  little  more  speed  out  of  his  steed,  but  the  cripplec 
brute  merely  groaned  and  limped  on.  Then  right 
in  front  of  the  saloon  an  accident  happened. 

There  was  a  new  picket  fence  built  around  the 
yard  of  a  home  across  the  street  from  the  saloon 
A  little  negro  boy  ran  down  the  street  with  a  stick 
in  his  hand,  and  as  he  passed  this  fence,  he  laid  his 
stick  against  the  pickets,  scraping  it  along  as  h< 
ran.  A  horrible,  rattling  noise  was  the  result. 

At  the  first  sound,  Shin's  pie-faced  sorrel  leapec 
into  the  air,  threw  Shin  heavily  to  the  ground,  anc 
ran  snorting  with  fright  toward  the  Gaitskill  home 
with  the  speed  of  a  deer. 

A  crowd  quickly  gathered  around  the  prostrat 
Shin  Bone,  and  he  was  picked  up  and  carried  intc 
the  Hen-Scratch  saloon.  A  few  minutes  later, 
after  sufficient  liquor  had  been  spilled  down  his 
throat  and  over  his  dusty  clothes,  Shin  opened  his 
eyes  and  gazed  into  the  yellow,  grinning  face  of 
Skeeter  Butts. 


All  is  Fair  233 

"I  figgered  it  wus  about  time  you  wus  comin' 
here  so  us  could  divide  up,  Shin, "  Skeeter  laughed. 
"But  I's  plum'  sorry  you  got  throwed  off. " 

"I  cain't  divide  up  nothin',"  Shin  said  sadly. 
"Of  co'se  I'll  sottle  my  owe-bill  wid  you  jes'  as 
soon  as  I  kin.  I  done  got  me  a  job  wid  Marse 
Tom.  But  I  ain't  got  nary  cent  of  money  now. " 

"I  'speck  you  is  got  mo'  dan  you  figger  on," 
Skeeter  laughed.  "How  much  does  you  s'pose 
you  winned  on  dat  race?" 

"I  ain't  winned  nothin',"  Shin  declared. 
"Skipper  lose." 

4 '  Shorely , ' '  Skeeter  agreed.  ' '  I  knowed  he  wus 
gwine  do  dat  all  along.  So  I  bet  yo'  money  an'  my 
money  on  Doodlebug!" 

"Bless  gracious!"  Shin  howled,  sitting  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  and  gazing  into  the  faces  of 
the  grinning  negroes  who  stood  in  a  ring  about 
him.  "  How  much  did  you  rake  down  ?" 

"Yo'  win  is  one  hundred  dollars,"  Skeeter 
declared  exultantly.  "But  you  owes  me  fifty 
an'  I  takes  dat  out  of  yo'  win. " 

"Dat's  right,"  Shin  laughed.  "Hand  me  over 
dem  dollars." 

He  sat  down  at  the  table  and  counted  the  money 
laboriously,  his  manner  becoming  more  and  more 
elated  as  the  dollars  piled  up  under  his  hand. 
Then  he  slipped  the  wad  into  his  pocket,  and 
beamed  upon  the  circle  of  admiring  friends. 

"Good  luck  done  kotch  me  agin,  niggers!" 
he  laughed.  Then  he  slipped  behind  the  bar  be 
side  Skeeter,  and  said: 


234  All  is  Fair 

"Skeeter,  you  hab  done  me  a  large  amount  of 
great  good." 

"I  don't  deeserve  no  credick, "  Skeeter  laughed. 
"I  jes'  happened  to  know  Pap  Curtain,  an'  besides 
dat,  I  done  expe'unce  dat  little  Tuckapoo  mustang 
named  Doodlebug  befo'.  I  monkeyed  wid  dat 
pony  one  time,  an'  Skeeter  wus  a  well  skint 
sucker. " 

'Tap  hadn't  oughter  did  me  dat  way,"  Shin 
lamented. 

"Pap  cain't  ack  no  diffunt,"  Skeeter  told  him. 
"Some  niggers  is  like  snakes.  Dey  gotter  wiggle 
an'  twist  an'  go  crooked  to  git  along. " 

' '  I  shore  wish  I  could  gib  Pap  a  twist  dat  he  ain't 
lookin'  fer, "  Shin  declared. 

Skeeter  eyed  him  a  moment  with  intense  in 
terest.  Then  he  asked: 

"Whut  you  gwine  do  wid  dat  money?" 

"I'll  ack  like  eve'y  nigger — spend  it!"  Shin 
laughed. 

"I  figger  on  buyin'  a  race-hoss  wid  my  win," 
Skeeter  suggested.  "How  would  dat  plan  suit 
you  wid  yo'  money?" 

"You  reckin  I  could  git  a  hoss  whut'll  beat  Pap's 
Doodlebug?"  Shin  asked  eagerly. 

"Suttinly, "  Skeeter  assured  him.  "Doodle 
bug  ain't  such  a  much  hoss.  Of  co'se,  he  kin  beat 
dese  here  old  plow-hosses  whut  runs  agin  him.  I 
knows  de  hoss  whut  kin  beat  him  right  now. ' ' 

Shin  pulled  his  roll  of  money  out  of  his  pocket 
and  passed  it  back. 

"Buy  me  dat  hoss,  Skeeter,"  he  said  earnestly. 


All  is  Fair  235 

"I  don't  want  nothin'  as  bad  as  I  want  to  git  Pap 
Curtain's  goat!" 


NIGGER  BLACKIE. 

Shin  Bone  tended  bar  for  Skeeter  Butts  until 
eleven  o'clock  that  night,  then  Skeeter  returned 
to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  covered  with  swamp 
mud  and  leading  a  slim  black  horse. 

"Dis  is  yo'  winner,  Shin,"  he  said  in  weary 
tones,  as  he  placed  the  lead-rope  into  the  hands 
of  the  pop-eyed  owner.  "I  got  him  for  fifty 
dollars  cash  down,  an'  he's  shore  a  dandy. " 

"He  looks  pretty  peart,"  Shin  grinned.  "Kin 
he  run?" 

"Yep, "  Skeeter  said  in  a  disgusted  tone.  "He 
kin  run  like  a  log  raff  floatin'  up  de  Massassap' 
River.  But  us  ain't  winnin'  on  his  speed — us  is 
bettin'  on  his  looks. " 

"I  don't  ketch  on  'bout  dis, "  Shin  said  stupidly. 
"Dis  sounds  to  me  like  you  done  waste  my 
money. " 

"Don't  go  by  sound,  Shin,"  Skeeter  snickered. 
"  Go  by  looks.  Now  listen  to  dis  few  advices :  you 
waste  all  de  rest  of  dis  night  scourin'  down  dis 
hoss  wid  a  currycomb,  a  brush,  an'  a  rag.  As  soon 
as  it  is  good  day,  you  git  out  on  de  race-track  an' 
lope  dis  hoss  aroun'  fer  a  while.  Ef  Pap  Curtain 
is  out  on  de  track,  you  show  him  how  good  dis 
hoss  kin  pufform. " 


236  All  is  Fair 

Shin  walked  away,  mumbling  to  himself  in  his 
perplexity.  But  he  took  the  horse  to  Gaitskill's 
stable  and  followed  Skeeter's  advice.  After  five  or 
six  hours  of  the  most  arduous  labor,  Shin  lifted  his 
lantern  and  surveyed  the  animal,  He  shone  like 
a  new  silver  dollar,  every  hair  was  in  place,  and  the 
horse  was  beautiful. 

"He  shore  is  a  looker,"  Shin  proclaimed.  "I 
hopes  he's  got  some  speed  inside  his  black 
hide." 

A  little  later,  Shin  rode  him  slowly  out  to  the 
fairgrounds  and  entered  the  gate.  It  was  just 
after  daybreak,  but  early  as  it  was,  as  Shin  rode 
onto  the  track,  he  encountered  Pap  Curtain 
mounted  on  Doodlebug. 

Without  a  word  they  started  around  in  the  same 
direction,  each  man  watching  the  other's  horse 
with  great  interest. 

Shin  broke  from  a  canter  into  a  swinging  gallop, 
and  Pap  followed  with  Doodlebug.  By  the  time 
they  had  gone  half  a  mile  and  had  pulled  up,  Pap 
knew  all  about  the  black  horse. 

"Did  you  buy  dat  hoss  wid  de  money  you 
winned  on  de  fourth  race  yistiddy,  Shin?"  Pap 
asked  with  a  sneering  grin. 

'  *  Naw, ' '  Shin  said  shortly.  ' '  You  tole  me  to  bet 
on  Skipper." 

"Skipper  skipped  aroun'  consid'able  fast  fer 
him,"  Pap  chuckled.  "Somebody  must  hab  felt 
sorry  fer  you  an'  gib  you  dat  hoss  to  win  yo'  losin's 
back  wid. " 

"Dat's  perzackly  whut  dey  done, "  Shin  replied. 


All  is  Fair  237 

"I'll  take  some  of  dat  money  back  now  ef  you  is 
willin'  to  try  a  private  race. " 

"I  ain't  been  made  acquaintance  wid  dat  hoss, " 
Pap  objected. 

"Is  you  'quainted  wid  ten  dollars?"  Shin  asked 
in  an  ugly  tone,  as  he  pulled  a  bill  from  his  pocket. 

"Sho'ly,  sho'ly, "  Pap  proclaimed  in  unctuous 
tones.  "Us'll  ride  back  to'des  de  gran'stan'  an' 
you  kin  han'  dat  money  to  de  fust  coon  you  meet. 
I'll  put  a  ten  on  top  of  it. " 

Deep  joy  filled  Pap's  heart  as  he  watched  the 
black  horse  walking  beside  his  own  Tuckapoo 
mustang,  the  little  racer  which  had  never  been 
beaten  when  Pap  wanted  him  to  win.  Ten  dollars 
was  a  great  deal  of  money  in  Pap's  mind,  and 
easily  won. 

"You  double  criss-crossed  me  on  dat  race  yis- 
tiddy,  Pap,"  Shin  said  angrily.  "You  made  out 
like  I  wus  a  member  of  de  fambly  an'  you  wus 
he 'pin*  me  along.  Whut  you  wus  plannin'  wus  to 
rob  me  of  all  my  loose  change." 

"How  much  did  you  drap,  Shin?"  Pap  snick 
ered. 

"I  drapped  eve'y  cent  I  bet  on  Skipper,"  Shin 
said  non-committally. 

"Ain't  dat  too  bad!"  Pap  sighed  mockingly. 
"You  is  gwine  drap  a  few  mo'  change,  too.  " 

A  moon-faced  negro  sat  on  the  fence  near  the 
starter's  stand,  waiting  for  something  to  happen. 

"Hold  dis  money,  pardner!"  Pap  said,  as  he 
extended  his  hand  with  ten  dollars.  "Dis  little 
Shin  Bone  wants  to  lose  a  bet!" 


238  All  is  Fair 

Shin  dropped  his  bill  into  the  eager  stake 
holder's  hand,  and  turned  his  horse  to  ride  a  few 
feet  up  the  track  for  a  start.  The  moon-faced 
negro  took  his  place  under  the  starter's  wire  and 
the  two  horses  loped  down  the  track. 

"Go!"  the  stakeholder  whooped. 

It  was  a  pretty  race  for  a  quarter  and  the  black 
was  putting  forth  his  best  effort  every  foot  of  the 
way.  Then  Shin's  horse  seemed  to  lose  all  interest 
in  the  race  and  all  other  affairs  of  life  and  the  ut 
most  efforts  of  the  rider  availed  only  to  bring  the 
horse  under  the  wire  about  fifty  yards  behind 
Doodlebug. 

"Good-bye,  po'  little,  las'  little  ten  dollar  bill!" 
Shin  chanted  tearfully  as  he  loped  tearfully  on 
toward  the  stable  leaving  Pap  Curtain  to  collect  the 
stakes. 

But  Pap  was  not  disposed  to  let  Shin  off  so 
easily.  He  galloped  after  him  and  began : 

' '  Whut  race  is  you  gwine  start  dat  cow  in,  Shin  ? ' ' 

"He  runs  in  eve'y  race  whut  Doodlebug  has, 
Pap,"  Shin  said  easily  enough,  but  his  heart  was 
filled  with  chagrin.  "I  bought  him  to  beat  yo' 
Doodlebug!" 

'  *  Doodlebug  is  in  de  secont  race  to-day, ' '  Pap 
chuckled.  "You  shore  owns  a  good-looker,  but  as 
a  race-hoss  dat  shiny  black  is  a  puffeckly  awful 
arrangement. " 

This  was  Shin  Bone's  idea  exactly,  and  he  rode 
out  of  the  fairgrounds  and  hitched  his  horse  in 
front  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  to  hold  an  execu 
tive  session  with  Skeeter  Butts. 


All  is  Fair  239 

He  strode  into  the  saloon  like  a  personified  ca 
lamity,  and  dropped  down  in  a  chair  beside  the 
table  where  Skeeter  sat. 

"Skeeter, "  he  howled,  "you  shore  made  a 
awful  miscue  about  dat  Nigger  Blackie  hoss  you 
bought  fer  me.  He's  so  nigh  nothin'  dat  nobody 
cain't  tell  de  diffunce  betwix'  him  an'  nothin'!" 

"Tain't  so,"  Skeeter  replied,  continuing  to 
count  some  money  he  had  spread  out  on  the 
table.  "Dat's  a  dandy  lookin'  hoss.  " 

"Suttinly,"  Shin  retorted  bitterly.  "He's  a 
looker,  but  he  runs  like  a  Ian'  tarrapin  travelin' 
in  a  plowed  field. " 

"Ain't  it  awful!"  Skeeter  snickered.  "I'd 
druther  try  to  win  a  race  ridin'  straddle  of  a  mud 
scow  whut  I  borrered  outen  de  ribber  dan  to  put 
up  dat  hoss  fer  a  winner. " 

Shin  grunted  and  relapsed  into  an  outraged 
silence,  looking  at  the  unperturbed  Skeeter  now 
and  then  with  glaring  eyes.  Finally  Skeeter 
asked : 

"Did  you  gib  Nigger  Blackie  a  tryout  ?  " 

"Yep.  An'  I  loss  de  onlies'  ten  dollars  I'm  got 
in  de  worl'  tryin'  to  beat  Pap's  Doodlebug." 

"Dat's  whut  I  loant  you  dat  ten  fer,"  Skeeter 
said,  handing  Shin  ten  dollars  more  from  the  pile 
on  the  table.  "Ef  you  hadn't  lost  it,  I'd  'a'  fit 
you!" 

"Huh,"  Shin  grunted.  "You  ain't  tellin'  me 
as  much  as  I  oughter  know. " 

"Naw,  suh,  not  quite  as  much.  You  see,  you's 
gwine  marry  into  Pap's  fambly,  an'  you's  got  one 


240  All  is  Fair 

of  dese  here  open-work  minds  an'  cain't  keep 
no  thin'  secret. " 

"Dat  ain't  no  reason  why  I  don't  want  to  rob 
Pap  of  all  his  dollars, "  Shin  declared  belligerently. 
"But  I  don't  expeck  to  git  much  of  Pap's  money 
wis  Nigger  Blackie  to  run  fer  it. " 

"Mebbe  you  didn't  know  how  to  ride  him, 
Shin,"  Skeeter  suggested. 

"'Taint  dat,  Skeeter,"  Bone  said  earnestly. 
"Dat  hoss  jes'  nachelly  ain't  got  no  speed  in 
him. " 

"I's  heerd  tell  dat  he  had  racin'  blood  in  him," 
Skeeter  replied. 

"Mebbe  so,  he  did  had — one  time,"  Shin 
responded  gloomily.  ' '  But  a  stable  flea  bit  him  an' 
got  it  all. " 

Skeeter  stood  up  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"I's  glad  to  git  dat  repote  from  you,  Shin,"  he 
said.  "Now  I  wants  you  to  tend  dis  bar  fer  me 
till  I  gits  back.  I's  gwine  ride  Nigger  Blackie 
aroun'  a  little  an'  see  kin  I  limber  up  his  racin' 
speed." 

VI 

BY  THREE  LENGTHS. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  day  of  the  Tickf  all 
Negro  Fair,  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill,  the  chief  pro 
moter  of  the  negro  uplift  movement,  received  a 
shock. 

A  delegation  of  wailing  women  waited  upon  him 


All  is  Fair  241 

and  tearfully  told  their  tale  of  woe.  All  the 
canned  fruits  and  vegetables,  all  the  preserves 
and  jams,  all  the  cakes  and  pies  which  they  had 
brought  to  the  Fair  and  entered  in  the  competition 
for  prizes  had  disappeared  from  the  hall ! 

Investigation  revealed  the  fact  that  the  hungry 
negroes  had  helped  themselves,  sampling  every 
thing  until  nothing  of  the  sample  remained. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  delegation  of  negro  farmers 
waited  upon  the  Colonel  and  informed  him  that  all 
their  potatoes,  cabbages,  fruit,  and  home-raised 
peanuts,  along  with  their  sugar  cane,  corn,  and  hay 
had  mysteriously  disappeared  from  the  display  hall! 

Investigation  revealed  the  fact  that  those  who 
had  animals  on  exhibition  on  the  grounds  had 
looted  and  foraged,  and  found  the  supply  insuffici 
ent  for  their  needs. 

A  committee  of  howling  negro  girls  waited  upon 
Colonel  Gaitskill  and  announced  that  all  their 
plain  and  fancy  sewing,  their  scarfs  and  handker 
chiefs,  their  dresses  and  towels  had  disappeared ! 

Fowl  raisers  came  to  complain  that  their  chick 
ens,  ducks,  geese,  and  turkeys  had  vanished,  some 
or  all  of  them,  and  what  could  they  do  about  it  ? 

"By  George!"  Gaitskill  exclaimed  in  exasper 
ation.  "These  niggers  don't  have  to  be  taught 
any  uplift.  They've  lifted  everything  on  the  fair 
grounds  and  made  away  with  it." 

Nothing  was  left  on  the  grounds  but  the  race 
horses,  and  the  Uplift  Committee  of  white  citi 
zens  of  Tickfall  decided  to  charge  admission  to 
the  grounds  for  the  last  two  days  of  the  racing,  and 

16 


242  All  is  Fair 

by  the  money  thus  received  reimburse  the  farmers 
and  their  wives  and  daughters  for  their  losses. 
Thus  peace  and  happiness  were  restored. 

The  afternoon  was  bright  and  fair  and  Pap 
Curtain  was  on  the  track  early  with  a  careful  eye 
upon  Doodlebug  and  upon  all  the  other  horses  in 
Doodlebug's  race,  the  second.  He  made  a  special 
inspection  of  Nigger  Blackie  as  the  jockey,  Little 
Bit,  rode  him  up  the  track  for  a  wanning.  The 
black  was  as  clumsy  as  a  cow,  and  the  diminutive 
darky  rode  him  awkwardly  and  fearfully. 

None  of  the  ordinary  rules  and  regulations  were 
in  force  upon  this  race- track.  A  jockey  could  ride 
with  any  sort  of  saddle,  or  without  one.  The 
negroes  had  no  uniforms,  carried  any  sort  of  whips 
or  spurs  which  they  thought  would  get  speed  from 
their  mounts.  Only  one  rule  was  positively 
enforced,  and  that  was  made  for  this  event:  the 
man  who  entered  a  horse  for  a  race  must  own  the 
horse. 

Pap  was  at  the  stable  when  Little  Bit  rode  back, 
and  he  greeted  the  little  jockey  in  a  tone  which 
already  thrilled  with  anticipated  victory. 

"Don't  bet  no  chink  on  dat  sook-cow,  Little 
Bit , "  he  snickered.  ' '  Ef  you  got  any  loose  change, 
buy  yo'se'f  a  bernaner — don't  waste  it!" 

Skeeter  Butts  overheard  this  remark  and  hast 
ened  forward. 

"No  jockey  kin  ride  my  hoss  wid  a  bettin'- 
ticket  in  his  hat,  Pap,"  he  said  positively.  "Ef 
you  wants  to  lose  yo'  money,  lemme  take  it  away 
from  you. " 


All  is  Fair  243 

"I  thought  dis  hoss  b'longed  to  Shin  Bone," 
Pap  remarked. 

"He  do,"  Skeeter  assured  him.  "Me  an*  Shin 
went  cahoots,  an'  Shin  exoncised  dis  hoss  dis 


mawnin'." 


"I  remember  'bout  dat, "  Pap  chuckled,  as  he 
produced  a  roll  of  money  from  his  pocket.  "Less 
go  down  to  de  gramstan'  an'  git  a  stakeholder  fer 
dese  funds. " 

Skeeter  took  all  the  money  which  Pap  would 
bet,  then  he  walked  to  the  betting  shed  where  a 
howling  mass  of  half -intoxicated  negroes  demon 
strated  an  intense  love  for  the  improvement  of 
stock. 

Ten  big,  hoarse- voiced,  fat-necked  negro  gam 
blers  from  New  Orleans  pushed  and  bellowed  among 
the  darkies  with  their  little  celluloid  slates,  taking 
bets  for  any  amount  on  the  favorite,  Doodlebug. 

Hitch  Diamond,  Prince  Total,  and  Figger  Bush 
closed  in  upon  Skeeter  Butts. 

"I  hear  tell  you  is  got  a  hoss  in  de  nex'  race, 
Skeeter,"  Hitch  Diamond  rumbled. 

"Yes,  suh,  Fs gibin'  him  aleetle tryout,"  Skeeter 
replied  modestly.  "Dis  here  race-hoss  game  is 
kinder  new  on  me,  an'  I's  jes'  tryin'  to  break  in 
easy-like.  I  buyed  a  race  hoss  yistiddy  in  Shon- 
galoon  from  Tax  Sambola. " 

"My  Lawd!"  Hitch  exclaimed.  "You  ain't 
bet  tin'  money  on  him,  is  yer?" 

"Jes'  a  leetle  to  keep  up  my  mind  int'rusted, " 
Skeeter  grinned. 

"I  hopes  it  ain't  no  mo'  dan  you  kin  affode  to 


244  All  is  Fair 

lose,  Skeeter,"  Hitch  Diamond  said  earnestly. 
"Dat  Nigger  Blackie  hoss  is  de  best  looker  in  de 
worl',  an'  he  ack  like  he's  git  tin'  ready  to  go  over  de 
land  like  a  air-ship.  But  he  don't  run  no  faster 
dan  a  se  win '-machine. " 

''Ain't  it  de  truth!"  Skeeter  laughed  mockingly. 
''I  figger  I  better  bet  on  his  looks  instid  of  his 
gait!" 

Skeeter  walked  away  and  Hitch  Diamond  turned 
to  his  friends  with  eyes  which  glowed  like  a  lion's. 

"Sell  yo'  socks  offen  yo'  foots  an'  bet  yo'  money 
on  Doodlebug,  niggers,"  he  howled.  "Skeeter 
Butts  is  done  commit  hisse'f  enough  to  disavow  dis 
Nigger  Blackie  hoss  complete!" 

When  the  bell  rang  for  the  second  race,  Skeeter 
Butts  found  Shin  Bone  in  the  grandstand,  leaning 
against  the  rail. 

' '  I  got  all  our  spondulix  down,  Shin, "  he  grinned. 
"Bofe  of  us  bets  fifty  dollars  per  each." 

"How  wus  de  odds?"  Shin  asked  in  a  tone 
trembling  with  excitement. 

"Some  of  it  wus  five  to  one,"  Skeeter  replied. 
"All  I  bet  Pap  wus  at  dem  odds." 

"Dat'll  bust  him  in  about  six  minutes,"  Shin 
laughed.  "By  dark,  he'll  be  cryin'  in  dat  lace 
handkerchief  he  swiped  outen  de  show-hall  an' 
beggin'  me  to  marrify  his  niece  so  he  won't  hab  to 
suppote  her  no  mo'. " 

Shin  turned  and  gazed  at  the  crowd,  trying 
to  locate  his  girl.  Failing  to  find  her,  he  left 
Skeeter  without  ceremony. 

Nigger  Blackie  came  in  front  of  the  grandstand, 


All  is  Fair  245 

loping  along  as  sedately  as  a  man  might  walk 
across  a  drawing-room.  Little  Bit,  sitting  on  his 
back  without  a  saddle  was  as  nervous  as  a  cat  in  the 
midst  of  a  pack  of  popping  fire-crackers. 

"I  bet  ten  to  one  dat  Little  Bit  falls  often  dat 
pony  befo'  he  gits  to  de  quarter  pole,"  Pap 
proclaimed  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"Ef  Nigger  Blackie  runs  in'form,  he  ain't  gwine 
git  to  no  quarter  pole  onless  Little  Bit  hauls  him 
dar  in  a  wheel-barrer,  "  Hitch  Diamond  grinned. 

''Bar's  Doodlebug!"  Pap  proclaimed,  in  the 
tone  of  a  parent  speaking  of  a  noble  son. 

Doodlebug  was  a  Tuckapoo  mustang.  To  those 
acquainted  with  the  breed,  enough  said.  It 
means  that  Doodlebug  was  a  mean,  tricky,  biting, 
kicking,  balky  Indian  pony.  He  came  up  the 
track  sideways,  backwards,  on  his  hind  feet,  on  his 
fore  feet.  Twice  he  lay  down  and  rolled  over,  and 
once  he  balked,  spending  two  minutes  in  a  vain 
effort  to  bite  off  his  jockey's  leg. 

"Dat  hoss  ain't  got  but  one  good  p'int,  Hit- 
chie, "  Pap  declared.  "He  kin  run  like  a  bullet 
shot  outen  a  gun!" 

A  few  minutes  later  five  horses  swept  down  the 
track  in  an  even  line. 

"Go!"  yelled  Vinegar  Atts,  up  in  the  judges' 
stand. 

In  the  momentary  silence  following  the  get 
away,  there  was  a  scream  so  loud  and  ear-splitting 
that  it  thrilled  every  person  on  the  fair-grounds. 
Then  everybody  on  the  grandstand  stood  up  and 
an  astonished  exclamation  leaped  from  every  lip : 


246  All  is  Fair 

"Look  at  Nigger  Blackie!"  "My  Lawd,  how 
dat  hoss  do  run!" 

Little  Bit  had  a  fence  picket  for  a  whip.  But 
instead  of  using  it  in  the  ordinary  way,  he  was 
violating  all  the  customs  of  race-riding.  He  sat 
perfectly  straight,  his  bridle-reins  were  untouched, 
lying  upon  the  horse's  neck  and  flapping  loosely 
around  his  face,  while  he  waved  his  fence  picket 
around  his  head  like  a  club.  Nigger  Blackie  was 
running  like  a  streak. 

As  Little  Bit  passed  the  half-mile  post,  once 
more  that  thrilling,  ear-splitting  shriek  swept 
across  the  intervening  space  to  the  people  who 
stood  breathless  in  the  grandstand. 

"Whut  kind  of  noise  is  dat  Little  Bit  is  makin' 
wid  his  mouf?"  Pap  Curtain  inquired  uneasily  as 
he  watched  Doodlebug  a  full  length  behind  Nigger 
Blackie,  running  his  best  and  unable  to  gain  an 
inch. 

"Dat's  a  Indian  war-whoop,  Pap,"  Hitch 
Diamond  said  in  a  voice  which  choked  in  his 
throat.  "When  I  wus  jes'  a  little  shaver,  I  used 
to  hear  de  Caddo  Indians  yelp  dat  way  when  dey 
wus  hoss-racin'." 

"My  Gawd!"  Pap  exclaimed,  as  the  horses 
turned  into  the  home-stretch.  "Whut's  done 
happened  to  Doodlebug?" 

Doodlebug  was  doing  his  best,  but  he  was  two 
lengths  behind,  while  Little  Bit  was  riding  Nigger 
Blackie  like  an  Indian,  whooping  like  a  calliope,  and 
Nigger  Blackie,  with  the  loose  bridle-reins  flapping 
around  his  face,  was  coming  in  like  a  rocket. 


All  is  Fair  247 

Somebody  pulled  at  Pap's  shoulder,  and  a  soft 
voice  spoke  pleadingly  in  his  ear.  He  struck 
behind  him  savagely  with  his  clenched  fist,  and 
then  leaned  far  over  the  fence. 

Suddenly  the  grandstand  broke  out  into  a  prayer, 
a  wailing  cry  which  urged,  pleaded,  implored ! 

"Come  on,  Doodlebug!  Come  on,  Doodlebug! 
Come  on,  Doodlebug!" 

"COME  on,  Doodlebug!"  Pap  shrieked,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  agony  in  his  voice,  and 
tragedy  in  his  heart.  "Oh,  fer  Gawdlemighty's 
sake,  come  on!" 

Again  some  one  pulled  at  Pap's  arm,  and  a 
pleading  voice  spoke  to  him.  Again  Pap  savagely 
shook  himself  loose,  struck  out  blindly  and  in 
sanely  at  the  person  behind  him. 

Then  a  mighty  moaning  sound  broke  from  the 
grandstand,  the  lamentation  of  a  crushed,  dis 
appointed,  bankrupted  multitude. 

Nigger  Blackie  was  under  the  wire,  a  winner 
by  three  lengths! 

Pap  Curtain  turned  away  from  the  track, 
dazed,  nauseated,  his  yellow  cheeks  streaked  with 
white,  his  sneering  lips  hanging  loosely  and 
quivering,  his  mouth  as  dry  as  sawdust,  his  tongue 
feeling  like  it  was  as  big  and  rough  as  a  door-mat. 

Once  more  some  one  pulled  at  Pap's  shoulder, 
and  a  pleading  voice  spoke  tearfully : 

"Oh,  Pap!  I  been  lookin'  fer  you  eve'ywhar! 
I  was  tryin'  to  kotch  you  an'  tip  you  off!" 

"Whut's  dat?"  Pap  asked,  turning  his  dazed, 
unseeing  eyes  upon  the  girl. 


248  All  is  Fair 

Whiffle  Boone  began  to  cry. 

"I  couldn't  find  you  till  atter  de  race  begun, 
Pap,"  she  sobbed.  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  dat 
Skeeter  Butts  an'  Shin  Bone  swapped  hosses  on 
you. " 

"How's  dat?"  Pap  asked,  stupidly. 

"Skeeter  bought  two  black  hosses  yistiddy, 
Pap,"  Whiffle  Boone  said  impatiently,  mopping 
the  tears  from  her  face.  "He  got  one  from  Tax 
Sambola  at  Shongaloon,  but  de  hoss  whut  winned 
de  race  wus  dat  black  hoss  whut  Indian  Turtle 
owned — dat  ole  Indian  whut  lives  on  de  Coolie 
bayo.  Dat's  how  come  Little  Bit  rid  him  jes'  like 
a  Indian!" 

Pap  leaned  weakly  against  the  fence  and  a  deep 
moan  issued  from  his  stiff,  parched  lips. 

"It's  too  late  now,  Whiffle,"  he  sighed.  "I 
done  loss  eve'y  dollar  I  owns.  I  bet  dat  fifty 
dollars  whut  you  gib  me  to  keep  fer  you,  an'  I 
done  lost  dat.  I  done  bet  Doodlebug,  an'  lost 
him!  I  would  hab  loss  Skipper,  too,  only  but  he 
b'longed  to  yo'  maw  instid  of  me!" 

Whiffle  suddenly  broke  out  into  a  happy  laugh. 

"When  do  Skipper  run  again,  Pap?"  she 
inquired. 

"He  starts  in  de  fifth  race/'  Pap  sighed. 

"All  right,  Pap,  don't  cry!"  Whiffle  giggled. 
"Skipper  will  win  in  de  fifth  race — you  leave  dat 
tome!" 

"'Twon't  do  no  good,  Whiffle,"  Pap  moaned 
despairingly.  "Us  ain't  got  no  money  to  bet." 

"You  leave  dat  to  me,  too,"  Whiffle  replied 


All  is  Fair  249 

confidently.  "You  set  down  somewheres  an' 
rest  yo'  mind  an*  pick  up  a  brave  heart.  I'll  git 
some  money  fer  you  to  bet,  an'  I'll  fry  Skeeter 
Butts  an*  Shin  Bone  in  deir  own  grease!" 

VII 

DOPE. 

In  the  rear  of  the  grandstand  Skeeter  Butts 
and  Shin  Bone  were  holding  a  jubilee.  They  were 
in  possession  of  more  money  than  they  had  ever 
imagined  was  in  the  world.  Silver  and  currency 
caused  every  pocket  to  bulge,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives  they  felt  the  need  of  police 
protection. 

"  I's  skeart  dese  niggers  will  stick  me  up  an'  rob 
me  of  dis  money,  Skeeter,"  Shin  said  uneasily. 
"Wut  is  us  gwine  do  wid  it?" 

"Bet  it  agin!"  Skeeter  exclaimed  exultantly. 
"Pap  Curtain  is  gwine  run  Skipper  in  de  las'  race. 
Dat  means  dat  you  an'  me  will  go  home  wid  all  de 
money  on  de  fairground." 

"We  ain't  gwine  git  many  bets,"  Shin  grinned. 
"Dese  here  niggers  ain't  got  much  mo'  money. 
Us  is  copped  it  all." 

"  Only  three  hosses  starts  in  de  fifth  race,  Shin, " 
Skeeter  remarked.  "One  is  Prince  Total's  plow- 
hoss;  one  is  Pap's  Skipper,  an'  de  yuther  is  a  good 
runner  called  Peedee.  Us  bets  on  Peedee." 

"All  right,"  Shin  agreed.  "Less  git  busy. 
Nothin'  don't  bother  me  but  my  money." 


250  All  is  Fair 

"Less  go  somewhar  an'  Vide  up  our  money 
even!"  Skeeter  suggested.  "Over  by  de  pond 
would  be  a  good  hidin'  place!" 

As  they  started  around  the  grandstand  they  met 
Pap  and  Whiffle  Boone.  Pap  was  walking  with 
bent  shoulders,  and  seemed  to  have  aged  forty 
years  in  a  few  minutes.  Whiffle  was  leading  him 
by  the  hand,  and  the  dazed  and  broken  negro  was 
mumbling  incoherently  to  himself.  Whiffle  looked 
straight  at  Shin  Bone  without  a  sign  of  recogni 
tion,  and  her  eyes  were  like  icicles. 

"Dar  now,  Shin!"  Skeeter  exclaimed  tragically. 
"You  done  busted  Pap  an'  yo'  love  scrape,  bofe  at 
de  same  time." 

"  I  ain't  cryin ' , "  Shin  grinned  easily.  ' '  Whiffle 
knows  whar  de  money  is  at,  an'  she'll  come  back  to 
little  Shinny." 

They  watched  Pap  and  the  girl  until  they  were 
swallowed  up  by  the  crowd,  then  Skeeter  and 
Shin  crossed  the  track  and  walked  over  to  a  pond 
in  the  rear  of  the  judges'  stand.  They  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  water,  divided  their  fortune,  and 
happily  planned  their  final  raid  on  the  money  of 
their  friends. 

In  the  meantime  Pap  and  Whiffle  were  standing 
at  a  stall  looking  into  the  face  of  a  sleepy-eyed 
horse  named  Skipper. 

"How  much  would  you  bet  on  Skipper,  ef 
you  had  some  money,  Pap?"  Whiffle  wanted  to 
know. 

"Nothin',"  Pap  replied  disgustedly. 

Whiffle  turned  and  caught  Pap  by  the  lapel  of 


All  is  Fair  251 

his  coat.     She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  and 
said: 

"Pap,  you  listen  to  me:  I  win  one  hundred 
dollars  in  dat  las'  race  by  bettin'  on  Nigger  Blackie. 
Dat  shows  dat  I  knows  more  about  hoss-racin'  dan 
you  does.  Now,  you  take  dis  money  an'  bet  eve'y 
cent  of  it  on  Skipper,  an'  leave  de  rest  to  me — will 
you  do  dat?" 

Pap's  sagging  backbone  stiffened.  His  chin 
came  up  in  the  air.  His  air  of  disappointment  and 
dejection  vanished  like  magic,  and  his  face  assumed 
a  broad  smile. 

"Gimme  dat  money,  honey,"  he  exulted.  "I 
ain't  mournin'  de  loss  of  my  change.  I  hates  to  let 
Skeeter  an'  Shin  bust  me.  Ef  I  kin  jes'  show  'em 
dat  dey  didn't  git  it  all,  I'll  shore  die  happy." 

"All  right,"  Whiffle  smiled.  "Go  ahead  an' 
die.  You  hunt  up  Skeeter  Butts  an'  Shin  Bone  an' 
bet  'em  dis  money — make  'em  gib  you  ten  to  one 
on  Skipper!" 

When  Pap  departed,  Whiffle  made  a  circuit  of 
the  stables,  eyeing  each  negro  loafer  with  intense 
interest. 

Finally  she  stopped  and  concentrated  her  atten 
tion  on  one  darky  who  sat  on  top  of  the  fence 
beside  the  track,  a  negro,  the  features  of  whose 
face  seemed  to  have  disintegrated  and  merged  in  a 
shapeless  mass,  as  if  the  clay  of  which  the  face  was 
molded  had  "run"  before  it  was  dry. 

The  negro  saw  Whiffle  without  appearing  to, 
look.  Whiffle  put  up  her  hand  and  rubbed  her 
nose.  Instantly  the  man  ran  two  fingers  into  his 


252  All  is  Fair 

ragged  waistcoat  pocket,  brought  them  out,  and 
waved  them  under  his  nose  with  a  loud  sniff. 

Whiffle  promptly  stepped  to  the  fence  beside 
him,  laid  a  fifty-cent  piece  upon  the  top  rail,  and 
whispered  one  word.  The  man  acted  as  if  he  did 
not  hear.  Whiffle  turned  her  back  and  looked 
off  across  the  green  surrounded  by  the  race-track, 
and  saw  Skeeter  Butts  and  Shin  Bone  leave  the 
pond  in  the  middle  of  the  green  and  walk  toward 
the  betting-shed. 

The  negro  climbed  down  from  the  fence  and 
disappeared  in  the  crowd.  Whiffle  kept  her  eyes 
on  Skeeter  and  Shin  until  he  had  entirely  dis 
appeared.  Then  she  turned,  and  where  the  money 
had  been  lying  upon  the  fence  there  now  rested  a 
folded  paper.  Whiffle  palmed  this  paper  and 
walked  slowly  back  to  Skipper's  stall. 

Entering  the  stall,  she  closed  the  door,  opened 
the  paper  and  poked  at  the  glistening  crystals 
with  the  tip  of  her  forefinger. 

Skipper  drew  near  and  sniffed  at  her  hands, 
begging  for  sweetmeats. 

"Dis  ain't  no  sugar,  Skipper,'*  she  murmured, 
catching  him  by  the  nose.  ' '  Whoa !  You'll  make 
me  spill  dis  med'cine,  an'  it  costed  me  fifty  cents! 
Whoa!" 

She  licked  a  few  remaining  crystals  off  of  her 
trembling  fingers,  twisted  the  paper  into  a  tiny 
wad  and  walked  out  of  the  stall. 

"Huh!"  she  sighed  as  she  wiped  the  bitter  taste 
from  her  lips.  "Ef  Pap  seed  me  lickin'  dat  he'd 
kill  me!" 


All  is  Fair  253 

VIII 

DISASTER. 

Skeeter  Butts  and  Shin  Bone  stood  in  the 
crowd  at  one  of  the  entrances  of  the  grandstand 
and  frowned  and  sneered  at  the  importunate 
negroes  who  crowded  around  them. 

"Lend  us  jes'  a  dollar  or  two,  Skeeter,"  they 
pleaded.  "Ef  we  could  git  a  leetle  start,  mebbe 
we  could  win  some  of  our  money  back. " 

"I  ain't  loantin'  no  money,"  Skeeter  pro 
claimed.  "  I's  jes'  bettin'  money,  an'  I  done  bet 
all  I'm  got  an'  couldn't  loant  none  ef  I  wanted 
to." 

At  that  moment  Pap  Curtain  joined  the  group, 
waving  five  twenty-dollar  bills.  He  had  wasted 
much  time  trying  to  locate  Skeeter  and  Shin. 

"Put  up  or  shet  up,  Skeeter!"  he  howled  glee 
fully.  "Here  am  one  hunderd  dollars  whut  say 
dat  Skipper  wins  dis  race. " 

"Bless  gracious,  Pap,"  Skeeter  grinned.  "I 
figgered  dat  I  had  you  bust.  Ef  I'd  'a'  knowed 
you  had  a  single  dollar  lef  I'd  shore  been  to  see 
you.  Now  I  done  bet  all  I'm  got." 

' '  Put  up  de  Hen-Scratch  saloon ! ' '  Pap  taunted. 
"I'll  bet  you  on  anything  you  is  got. " 

"I  got  a  race-hoss, "  Skeeter  grinned.  "I'll  bet 
Nigger  Blackie  agin  fifty  dollars  dat  Skipper  don't 
win." 

"I  takes  it,"  Pap  said  promptly. 

"I'm  got  a  Nigger  Blackie  race-hoss,  too,  Pap, " 


254  All  is  Fair 

Shin  Bone  suggested  with  a  loud  laugh.  "You 
seed  me  on  him  dis  mawnin'. " 

"I  bets  you  ten  dollars  agin  yo'  race-hoss, "  Pap 
said  promptly. 

"I  takes  it,"  Shin  snickered. 

Pap  turned  away  with  forty  dollars,  and  found 
no  trouble  in  placing  it  on  Skipper,  with  odds 
against  his  horse  of  ten  to  one. 

It  was  the  last  race  of  the  day,  and  business  was 
brisk.  The  losers  were  squealing  and  begging 
money,  hoping  for  a  chance  to  repair  their  fortunes. 
The  winners  were  whooping  and  resorting  to  every 
means  in  their  power  to  push  their  luck  to  the 
limit  and  add  to  their  loot. 

"Hurry  up,  niggers!"  one  of  the  bloated,  dressy 
coons  from  the  city  whooped.  "Git  yo'  money 
on  de  race !  Dey 's  saddlin'  up !  Ef  you  wants  to 
git  in  on  dis  spec'lation  now  is  de  las'  an'  loudest 
call  f er  yo'  money !  Git  busy ! ' ' 

"Put  yo'  las'  dollar  on  de  las'  race  an'  don't  cry 
ef  you  bets  it  on  de  hoss  dat  comes  in  las',  niggers ! " 
another  darky  bawled  as  he  waved  a  handful  of 
money.  "You'll  be  shore  to  git  yo'  money's  wuth 
of  dis  race,  fer  dese  three  hayburners  cain't  lope 
aroun'  dat  track  befo'  sundown!" 

"Listen,  Shin!"  Skeeter  said  as  he  plucked  at  his 
friend's  sleeve.  "I  'speck  we  better  hunt  up 
dat. Whiffle  Boone  an'  make  frien's  wid  her  over 
agin.  'Tain't  no  use  to  bear  her  no  grudge — us 
is  winners!" 

' '  Lawd,  I  done  f  ergot  dat  sweet  little  gal  often  my 
mind ! "  Shin  exclaimed  as  he  hastened  with  Skeeter 


All  is  Fair  255 

into  the  crowded  grandstand  and  pushed  through 
the  sweating  multitude  in  his  search  for  his  girl. 

"Dar  she  am!"  Skeeter  said,  pointing.  "You 
go  up  an'  set  on  one  side  of  her,  an'  I'll  set  on  de 
yuther  side,  an'  us'll  jolly  her  up!" 

To  their  surprise,  they  found  Whiffle  as  jolly 
already  as  she  could  possibly  be.  She  made  room 
for  them,  sat  down  between  them  and  began  to 
talk  like  the  whirr  of  a  flutter-mill. 

The  bell  rang  for  the  fifth  race,  and  the  three 
horses  galloped  up  the  track  in  front  of  the  grand 
stand.  Skeeter  noticed  that  Skipper's  jockey  was 
having  the  time  of  his  life  trying  to  keep  his  mount 
on  the  track.  The  animal  acted  like  he  had  an 
insane  desire  to  walk  the  fence,  climb  into  the 
grandstand,  or  slide  on  his  ear. 

' '  Somebody  is  done  hit  dat  Skipper  over  de  head 
wid  somepin  an'  sot  him  crazy,"  Skeeter  com 
mented. 

"Don't  you  slanderize  Skipper  now!"  Whiffle 
warned  him.  "Dat  hoss  b'longs  to  my  maw. " 

"He's  a  good  hoss  all  right, "  Skeeter  said  propiti- 
atingly.  "But  of  co'se  he  ain't  whut  you  mought 
call  a  race-hoss. " 

"Oh,  ain't  he?"  Whiffle  sniffed.  "He  wus  a 
race-hoss  when  we  bought  him,  an'  I  bet  I  knows 
mo'  about  race-hossin'  dan  you  do!" 

There  was  a  loud  whoop  from  the  crowd  and 
Skeeter  Butts  raised  himself  on  tiptoe  and  looked 
with  popping  eyeballs. 

"Bless  gracious,  whut  a  git-off!"  Whiffle  ex 
claimed. 


256  All  is  Fair 

It  was  indeed  a  very  bad  start.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  the  three  horses  were  strung  over  a  distance 
of  a  hundred  yards,  but  well  to  the  front  and  all 
alone  a  big  gray  named  Skipper  was  skimming  the 
rail  and  running  like  a  wild  fox,  while  Skeeter's 
favorite  bet,  Peedee,  was  the  last  in  the  line. 

"O  Lawdy!"  Skeeter  sighed,  his  heart  bumping 
against  the  base  of  his  tongue.  "Dis  is  awful, 
puff eckly  awful ! ' ' 

He  sat  down  heavily  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Shin  Bone  took  one  look  and  vanished. 

Whiffle  Boone  stood  without  a  tremor  of  excite 
ment  watching  her  horse. 

"Run,  you  gray  houn'  dawg,  run!"  she  whooped 
in  a  clear,  bugle  call. 

At  the  head  of  the  stretch  Skipper  .was  far  ahead, 
running  like  a  high-powered  automobile. 

He  passed  under  the  wire  and  started  around  the 
track  again.  In  spite  of  the  frantic  efforts  of  his 
jockey  to  stop  him  Skipper  made  the  second  mile 
in  record  time. 

As  he  passed  the  grandstand  the  negro  who  oper 
ated  the  big  bass  drum  brought  down  the  drum 
stick  on  the  stretched  pigskin  with  a  loud  ' '  Boom ! " 

Skipper  promptly  jumped  the  fence,  ran  far  ovet 
in  the  field,  bucked  his  jockey  off,  ran  splashing 
through  the  little  artificial  pond  in  the  middle  of 
the  green,  and  finally  lay  down  in  the  water  and 
rolled  over  and  over  like  a  muskrat,  kicking  and 
squealing  and  splashing  the  water  and  making 
waves  like  Pharaoh's  army  drowning  in  the  sea! 

"  Lawdymussy ! "  Whiffle  whined,  watching  the 


All  is  Fair  257 

antics  of  the  crazed  horse  and  wringing  her  hands 
in  nervous  distress.  "I  knowed  Skipper  was  a 
hop-hoss,  but  I  didn't  ax  nobody  how  much  tea  to 
gib  him.  I  figger  dat  I  doped  Skipper  too  high!'* 

The  crowd  was  on  its  way  home  a  long  time 
before  they  rescued  Skipper  from  the  pond  and 
persuaded  the  mud-begrimed  winner  to  return  to 
his  stall  and  be  cleaned  off. 

At  the  head  of  the  homeward-bound  procession 
walked  Skeeter  Butts  and  Shin  Bone.  Words 
cannot  describe  their  distress. 

"Dis  is  a  sad  an'  sorrerful  day  fer  me,  Shin," 
Skeeter  wept.  "At  de  eend  of  de  secont  race  I 
owned  all  de  money  in  de  worl'.  But  now " 

' '  Hush,  Skeeter ! ' '  Shin  said  impatiently.  ' '  Yo' 
mouf  is  jes'  like  a  gramophome — you  sets  it  runnin' 
an'  goes  off  an*  leaves  it. " 

"All  right,"  Skeeter  snarled.  "I'll  shet  up. 
But  fust  I  tells  you  dis,  solemn  an'  specific:  I  ain't 
never  gwine  bet  on  nothin'  no  more!  Dis  here 
expe'unce  is  done  broke  me  from  suckin'  eggs!" 

"Hush,  Skeeter!"  Shin  pleaded.  "Lemme 
medjertate!" 

IX 

ONE  DOLLAR,  ONE  CENT,  ONE  WORM. 

Next  morning,  as  Shin  busied  himself  about  the 

stable  of  Colonel   Tom    Gait  skill,  he  was  in  the 

depths  of  despair.     The  day  before  had  been  one  of 

wild  betting,  of  wonderful  winnings,  and  of  most 

17 


258  All  is  Fair 

disastrous  and  heartbreaking  losses.  And  this  was 
the  last  day  of  the  fair,  and  Shin  found  himself 
in  a  condition  where  there  was  no  possibility  of 
recovering  even  a  part  of  his  lost  fortune. 

One  by  one  he  brought  out  Gaitskill's  handsome 
horses  and  cleaned  them  until  a  man  might  rub 
a  silk  handkerchief  over  their  shiny  coats  and  not 
pick  up  a  speck  of  dust. 

Finally  Shin  brought  out  the  beautiful  sorrel 
with  the  blazed  face  and  the  stiff,  snake-bitten 
leg.  The  animal  was  painfully  lame,  and  Shin 
spent  an  hour  with  various  remedies  striving  to  get 
some  of  the  rigidity  out  of  the  wounded  leg. 

Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill  sauntered  out  from  his 
house  to  the  stables,  carrying  his  morning  news 
paper  in  his  hand. 

"Mawnin,'  Kunnel!"  Shin  exclaimed.  "Dis 
old  rattlesnake  hoss  is  shore  disencouragin'.  It 
'pears  like  his  leg  ain't  limberin'  up  a-tall!" 

"Is  that  so?"  Gaitskill  asked,  slapping  at  the 
gnats  which  flew  annoyingly  close  to  his  face  with 
the  newspaper  and  making  a  shrill,  rattling  sound. 

Instantly  the  horse  gave  a  loud  snort,  leaped 
high  into  the  air,  broke  the  halter  rope  with  which 
he  was  tied  to  the  post,  sprang  awkwardly  across 
the  lot,  and  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  fence,  look 
ing  fearfully  around  him  and  blowing  the  air  with 
a  whistling  sound  through  his  nostrils. 

"What  in  the  name  of  mud  is  the  matter  with 
that  fool?"  Gaitskill  demanded. 

"Dat  hoss  is  done  expe'unce  a  rattlesnake, 
Marse  Tom,  an*  dat  rattlin'  newspaper  skeart 


All  is  Fair  259 

him"  Shin  Bone  grinned.  "When  dat  hoss  hears 
somepin  rattle  he  don't  take  no  time  to  study — he 
hikes!" 

Shin  walked  over  and  led  the  trembling  animal 
back  to  the  post.  Gait  skill  said  with  deep  regret : 

"My  fine  horse  is  ruined,  Shin.  If  he  should 
recover  from  that  stiff  leg  he  would  always  be 
unreliable." 

"Dat's  a  fack,  Marse  Tom,"  Shin  agreed. 
"Nothin'  cpin't  never  make  no  rattlin'  sound 
aroun'  him.  I  done  expe'unce  dat  myse'f — he 
throwed  me  off  two  times  an*  nigh  fractioned  my 
neck."  " 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him  now," 
Gait  skill  said  sadly. 

"Sell  him  to  me,  Marse  Tom!"  Shin  pleaded. 
"Me  an*  Whiffle  Boone  is  gwine  git  married  an* 
start  a  eatin' -house,  an'  ef  I  could  own  dis  hoss 
an'  a  little  wagon  I  could  make  plenty  money  wid 
light  haulinV 

Gaitskill  pondered  this  a  moment.  Then  he 
said: 

"  I'll  let  you  have  him  for  forty  dollars,  Shin. " 

"  Suttinly,  Marse  Tom.     I'll  take  him ! " 

"But  remember  this:  you  must  promise  to  turn 
that  horse  into  my  pasture  every  night,  so  he  can 
get  enough  to  eat.  I  won't  have  you  starve  him. " 

"A  nigger  don't  starve  his  own  hoss,  Kunnel," 
Shin  Bone  laughed.  "A  nigger  will  steal  feed  fer 
his  own  hoss,  but  he  won't  steal  fer  a  white  man's 
hoss." 

Gaitskill  smiled  and  turned  away.     Shin  gazed 


260  All  is  Fair 

upon  Rattlesnake  with  the  proud  eyes  of  an  owner. 
He  put  his  arms  around  the  animal's  slim,  graceful 
neck,  drew  the  shapely  head  down  upon  his  bosom, 
and  said : 

"Cripple  hoss,  ef  I  jes'  had  a  live  rattlesnake 
to  tie  to  yo'  tail,  I  figger  I  could  go  out  on  de  race 
track  dis  day  an*  win  all  de  races  whut  is!" 

Suddenly  he  straightened  up,  released  the 
horse's  head  and  turned  away  with  an  air  of  deep 
dejection. 

' '  Shucks ! "  he  growled.  ' '  Marse  Tom  specify  I 
got  to  pay  him  fawty  dollars  fer  dis  hoss!  Whar 
kin  I  git  dat  money?" 

Shin  led  the  horse  back  to  the  stall  and  sat  down 
on  a  broken  chair  in  the  runway.  Twenty  min 
utes  of  deep  cogitation  threw  no  light  upon  his 
financial  problem,  so  he  rose  with  a  sigh  and  idly 
ran  his  hands  through  his  empty  pockets. 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
coat. 

Hastily  he  thrust  his  hand  into  that  pocket  and 
brought  out  one  silver  dollar  and  one  copper  cent. 
Up  to  that  moment  he  had  forgotten  this  money 
since  he  placed  it  there  three  days  before. 

"Dis  two  money  fotch  me  luck  one  time,"  he 
sighed.  "Mebbe  I  could  git  a  little  lift  from  'em 
agin  ef  Skeeter  Butts  hadn't  took  cold  foots  an' 
announce  his  specify  dat  he  warn't  gwine  race 


no  mo'." 


He  walked  out  of  the  stable,  stopped  beside  a  big 
pine  stump  in  the  stable  yard,  laid  his  dollar  on 
top  of  the  stump  and  placed  the  copper  penny  on 


All  is  Fair  261 

top  of  the  dollar  in  as  nearly  the  exact  center  as  he 
could  calculate. 

Then  he  lifted  up  some  planks  which  lay  deeply 
buried  in  the  dirt  in  the  corner  of  the  yard  and 
captured  two  red  earthworms.  He  took  one  of 
these  worms  and  laid  it  in  the  exact  center  of  the 
copper  coin. 

"Now,  Mr.  Worm,"  Shin  commanded,  "you 
crawl  off  en  dat  cent  and  specify  to  me  whut  direc 
tion  to  go  to  git  some  money!  Gimme  a  sign!" 

The  worm  started  to  crawl  off.  In  his  progress 
his  head  touched  the  silver  dollar.  The  worm 
stopped  and  promptly  crawled  back  upon  the 
copper.  He  started  again  in  another  direction, 
but  the  moment  its  body  touched  the  silver  dollar 
the  worm  drew  back. 

"Huh!"  Shin  grunted.  "Dis  worm  is  igernunt 
—he  don't  know  which  way  to  go!" 

Shin  watched  him  with  intense  curiosity.  He 
picked  up  a  straw  and  gave  him  little  pushes  to 
assist  his  progress,  then  he  suddenly  took  a  breath 
which  threatened  to  suck  in  all  the  air  in  the  stable- 
yard. 

"Bless  Gawd!"  he  exclaimed  with  heartfelt 
gratitude.  'It's  a  shore,  certain  f ack ! " 

He  tossed  the  worm  aside,  pocketed  the  money 
and  made  a  beeline  to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon. 

That  popular  resort  was  crowded  with  the 
colored  inhabitants  of  Tickfall.  They  raved  and 
bellowed  and  drank  and  laughed  and  rattled  the 
money  in  their  pockets  and  discussed  the  races  of 
the  day. 


262  All  is  Fair 

Shin  entered  quietly,  and  after  a  few  minutes  he 
picked  up  a  table  and  set  it  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  placing  a  chair  beside  it.  Seating  himself 
with  great  ceremony,  he  put  his  silver  dollar  in  the 
center  of  the  table  and  placed  his  copper  cent  on  top 
of  the  dollar. 

The  noise  of  talking  and  laughing  ceased  and  the 
negroes  crowded  around  Shin  Bone. 

Like  all  negroes,  Shin  had  a  dramatic  gift,  and 
he  played  it  to  the  limit.  His  actions  were 
attended  by  no  explanations  and  had  an  air  of 
deep  mystery.  Then  he  spoke : 

"Whut  nigger  in  dis  house  is  got  a  fishin' 
worm?" 

There  was  a  long,  astonished  silence.  Finally 
Pap  Curtain  spoke: 

"Whut  you  want  wid  a  fishin'  worm,  Shinny? 
Want  to  eat  yo'  breakfust?" 

"Naw,  suh,"  Shin  proclaimed.  cTs  gwine 
make  abet." 

"Whut  does  you  bet?"  Hitch  Diamond  bel 
lowed. 

Shin  Bone  rose  to  his  feet.  Pointing  dramatic 
ally  at  the  money,  he  shouted : 

"  I  bets  any  money  dat  I  kin  put  a  fishin*  worm 
on  top  of  dat  copper  cent,  an*  dat  worm  will  starve 
an'  squinch  up  an*  die,  befo'  he  will  crawl  across 
dat  silver  dollar  an'  git  away!" 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  intense  si 
lence.  Finally  Pap  Curtain  remarked: 

" Dat's  some  kind  of  trick  dollar." 

"'Tain't  so!  "Shin  howled. 


All  is  Fair  263 

"How  much  will  you  bet?"  Hitch  Diamond 
wanted  to  know. 

"Any  money!" 

"Will  you  lemme  furnish  my  own  dollar?"  Pap 
Curtain  inquired. 

"Suttinly!" 

"Will  you  lemme  furnish  de  copper  cent?" 
Hitch  Diamond  bellowed. 

"Shorely!" 

"Will  you  lemme  furnish  de  fishin'  worm?" 
Prince  Total  squealed. 

"Yep!" 

"Lawd,  niggers!"  Hitch  Diamond  roared. 
"Shin  Bone  is  done  gone  cripple  under  de  hat! 
Less  bust  him!" 

Shin  Bone  pocketed  his  dollar  and  his  copper 
and  sat  down  at  the  table.  There  was  a  wild 
flurry  as  Prince  Total  pushed  through  the  crowd 
to  go  out  and  dig  an  earth-worm.  Hitch  Diamond 
sat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  sand-covered  bar 
room  floor,  laid  a  copper  cent  down,  placed  an 
immense  middle  finger  upon  it  and  began  to  scour 
it  up  and  down  until  the  penny  shone  like  new. 
Pap  Curtain  dropped  a  silver  dollar  upon  the  floor, 
placed  his  boot  upon  it  and  scraped  it  up  and  down 
in  the  sand.  When  he  placed  it  upon  the  table  it 
looked  like  a  new-minted  dollar. 

A  moment  later  Prince  Total  appeared  with  a  fat 
red  earth-worm. 

"Put  yo'  money  on  de  table,  niggers,"  Shin 
Bone  announced  as  he  rose  to  his  feet.  *'I  takes 
eve'y  bet  up  to  fo'  hunderd  dollars.  I  bought  a 


264  All  is  Fair 

eatin'-house  from  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  fer  fo' 
hunderd  dollars,  an*  dat  house  covers  all  my  bets!" 

"I  keeps  de  books!"  Skeeter  Butts  squealed, 
flourishing  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of  paper.  "  Bel 
low  yo'  bets  in  a  loud  voice!" 

"Pap  Curtain,  twenty  dollars ! "  Pap  proclaimed. 

"Hitch  Diamond,  twenty!" 

"Prince  Total,  twenty!" 

"Figger  Bush,  twenty!" 

All  of  this  was  perfectly  familiar  to  the  negroes 
for  this  reason:  in  the  negro  churches  when  a 
collection  is  taken  up  a  table  is  placed,  a  secretary 
is  appointed,  and  each  donor  marches  to  the  front 
of  the  congregation,  places  his  gift  upon  the  table, 
announces  the  amount  in  a  loud  voice  and  retires. 

In  ten  minutes  the  table  contained  a  goodly 
amount  of  currency  and  silver,  and  Shin  Bone 
swept  the  contribution  from  the  top  of  the  table 
into  his  hat. 

"Two  hundred  an*  fo'  dollars  is  bet,  niggers!" 
Shin  announced.  "Now,  Prince  Total,  advance 
an'  produce  de  worm!" 

Pap  Curtain  laid  his  shiny  silver  dollar  in  the 
center  of  the  table.  Hitch  Diamond  placed  his 
shiny  copper  cent  in  the  center  of  the  dollar. 
Prince  Total  placed  his  fat,  shiny,  squirmy  earth 
worm  in  the  center  of  the  cent. 

Shin  Bone  walked  over  close  to  the  exit,  climbed 
upon  the  end  of  the  bar  so  he  could  see  by  looking 
over  the  heads  of  the  negroes,  and  began  to  pocket 
the  money  contained  in  his  hat. 

There  was  the  most  intense  and  overwhelming 


All  is  Fair  265 

silence  as  the  crowd  watched  the  worm.  It  started 
off  the  cent,  but  it  never  stayed  off.  The  penny 
was  small  and  the  worm  was  large,  and  sometimes 
it  overflowed  and  touched  the  silver.  When  that 
happened  the  worm  displayed  the  most  intense 
discomfort,  and  the  most  eager  desire  to  readjust 
its  folds  and  scramble  back  upon  the  copper. 

A  loud  groan  arose  from  the  watching  negroes. 

Shin  Bone  stood  up  on  the  end  of  the  bar  and 
squealed : 

"Good-bye,  niggers!  Ef  dat  worm  ever  gits 
off  en  dat  copper  cent  I'll  pay  de  money  back  an' 
eat  de  worm  raw!" 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  saloon  a  happy 
and  wealthy  man ! 

Ten  minutes  later  Pap  Curtain,  Hitch  Diamond, 
and  Prince  Total  appeared  at  the  home  of  Colonel 
Tom  Gaitskill. 

"Kunnel,"  Hitch  said  earnestly,  "us  niggers 
wants  to  show  you  somepin  an*  ax  you  how 
come!" 

"What  is  it?"  Gaitskill  smiled. 

Pap  laid  a  silver  dollar  on  the  floor  of  the  porch, 
Hitch  Diamond  placed  a  copper  cent  on  top  of  it, 
and  Prince  Total  laid  a  worm  on  top  of  the  cent. 

"Now,  Kunnel,  fer  Gawd's  sake,  tell  us  how 
come  dat  worm  cain't  crawl  off  en  dat  cent?" 

Gaitskill  laughed. 

"That  is  a  simple  demonstration  in  experimental 
electricity,  men,"  he  said.  "When  the  worm's 
damp  body  which  is  in  contact  with  the  copper 
touches  the  silver  it  starts  a  current  of  electricity 


266  All  is  Fair 

that  gives  it  a  shock.  Of  course  the  current  thus 
produced  is  very  slight,  but  it  is  quite  enough  for 
the  worm,  and  the  worm  finds  it  more  comfortable 
to  stay  on  the  copper  coin." 

"  Dat  shore  is  a  strange  an*  expensive  fack,  Marse 
Tom,"  Hitch  Diamond  remarked  gloomily. 

"De  nigger  whut  bets  his  dollars  on  dat  exper'- 
ment  ain't  gwine  git  no  slight  shock,"  Pap  Cur 
tain  declared. 

"An'  he  ain't  gwine  hab  even  a  copper  cent  to 
stan'  on!"  Prince  Total  concluded. 


RATTLESNAKE. 

All  of  Shin  Bone's  victims  were  sitting  in  the 
grandstand  when  Shin  rode  on  the  track  that 
afternoon  to  exhibit  his  newly  purchased  horse. 

"  Hello,  Shinny!"  Hitch  Diamond  yelled. 
"  Whar  you  git  dat  plug?" 

"  Marse  Tom  sold  him  to  me  fer  fawty  dollars, " 
Shin  grinned.  "You  all  he'ped  me  to  pay  fer 
him  when  you  bit  like  suckers  at  dat  fishin'  worm ! " 

"Is  you  gwine  race  him?"  Pap  whooped. 

"Suttinly.     He  goes  in  de  las'  race." 

"Is  you  gwine  bet  on  him?"  Prince  Total 
squealed. 

"I  bets  eve'y  cent  I'm  got,"  Shin  grinned. 
"Dis  hoss's  name  is  Rattlesnake,  an'  he's  pure 
p'ison." 

Shin  trotted  his  horse  down  the  track,  and  the 


All  is  Fair  267 

negroes  watched  the  stiff  hind  leg  of  the  animal 
and  noticed  that  the  horse  never  raised  it  far 
enough  above  the  ground  to  prevent  it  making  a 
long  mark  upon  the  turf.  Shin  galloped  back  in 
front  of  his  friends,  and  the  crippled  horse  awk 
wardly  dragged  his  stiff  leg,  making  a  longer  and 
deeper  mark  upon  the  track. 

"I  wonder  ef  dat  nigger  really  means  whut  he 
say?"  Pap  remarked  as  he  sat  back  in  his  seat. 

"Whut  race  is  you  in,  Pap?"  Hitch  Diamond 
asked. 

"I  starts  Nigger  Blackie  in  de  las*  race,"  Pap 
told  him.  "I  bet  Doodlebug  yistiddy  an*  lost 
him,  but  I  speck  he's  gwine  in  dat  race,  too.  Of 
co'se  Nigger  Blackie  kin  beat  Doodlebug — he  done 
it  yistiddy." 

"I  thought  Nigger  Blackie  b'longed  to  Skeeter 
Butts,"  Hitch  said. 

uNaw,  suh.  I  winned  Nigger  off  en  Skeeter 
yistiddy." 

"How  many  hosses  in  dat  las'  race?"  Prince 
Total  asked. 

"Gawd  knows,"  Pap  sighed.  "It's  de  las' 
race  of  de  fair.  It's  a  free-fer-all  scramble,  an' 
eve'y  nigger  in  dis  parish  kin  git  in  wid  a  race-hoss 
ef  he  wants  to." 

"I  tells  you  whut,  niggers,"  Hitch  Diamond 
suggested.  "Shin  Bone  is  done  robbed  us  of  a 
heap  of  money;  now  less  go  down  an'  bet  agin  him 
an'  his  hoss  an'  rob  him  of  all  de  chink  he's  got. 
Dat  stiff -leg  Rattlesnake  cain't  run — any  hoss  kin 
beat  him  as  fur  as  you  kin  shoot  a  gun. " 


268  All  is  Fair 

"I  favors  dat ! "  Pap  exclaimed.  " Dis  is  de  las' 
race  of  de  las'  day  of  de  fair.  I  favors  makin'  it  de 
las'  of  Shin  Bone.  I's  done  got  plum'  nauseated 
wid  dat  nigger  anyhow." 

They  waited  on  Shin  in  a  body  and  proposed  to 
take  all  his  money  away  from  him. 

"I  bets  dollar  fer  dollar,  niggers,"  Shin  replied 
smilingly.  "  I  is  got  one  hunderd  an'  sixty  dollars, 
an'  I  lets  it  go  easy." 

"Who  holds  de  stakes?"  Pap  Curtain  asked. 

"I  dunno,"  Shin  answered.  "I  ain't  figgered 
on  dat." 

"How  will  Whiffle  Boone  suit?"  Pap  inquired: 

"She  suits,"  Shin  said  indifferently.  "Less 
hunt  her  up." 

They  found  Whiffle  in  the  grandstand  and 
explained  what  they  wanted  her  to  do.  She 
gladly  consented  and  accepted  their  money, 
keeping  a  record  of  the  amount  of  their  bets. 

When  the  men  left  her  Whiffle  sat  for  a  long  time 
in  deep  meditation,  then  she  started  on  a  search 
for  Shin  Bone. 

Shin  was  busy  at  the  stable  plaiting  Rattle 
snake's  mane  and  tail  into  long,  hard  braids,  a  half 
dozen  on  the  mane  and  as  many  on  the  tail.  He 
was  working  eagerly,  confidently,  with  the  manner 
of  a  man  who  knew  what  he  was  doing. 

" Shinny, "  Whiffle  asked,  "who  is  gwine  ride 
yo'  hoss? 

"I'm  is." 

"Is  you  shore  you  is  gwine  win,  Shin?" 

"Suttinly." 


All  is  Fair  269 

"I  don't  see  how  dat  cripple  hoss  kin  run," 
Whiffle  remarked  in  troubled  tones. 

"  It  do  'pear  like  dat  stiff  leg  hinders  him  some, " 
Shin  grinned.  "But  I  done  found  out  somepin 
'bout  dis  hoss:  he  ain't  skeart  of  nothin'  but  a 
rattlesnake." 

"Dat  discover  don't  make  him  run  no  faster," 
Whiffle  replied. 

"  No'm.  But  ef  I  was  to  tie  a  rattlesnake  to  his 
tail  I  'speck  he  would  run  some." 

"Huh!"  Whiffle  snorted  disgustedly.  "You 
ain't  gwine  tie  no  snake  to  dat  hoss's  tail." 

"  Dat's  a  fack, "  Shin  snickered.  "  I's  skeart  of 
snakes.  But  I  tells  you  dis  honest,  Whiffle:  ef 
you  got  any  money  to  bet,  you  bet  it  on  Rattle 
snake.  I  wouldn't  tell  you  dis  ef  I  didn't  love  you 
more'n  anybody!" 

"I  owns  one  hunderd  dollars,  Shin.  Me  an' 
Pap  winned  in  de  race  whut  busted  you  up  yistiddy . 
I's  gwine  bet  on  Rattlesnake  fer  yo*  sake,  because 
I  loves  you." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  to  Shin  Bone  before  the 
last  race.  A  good  hour  before  that  contest  of 
speed  Shin  had  Rattlesnake  saddled  and  waiting. 

When  at  last  the  bell  rang  for  the  final  racing 
event  of  the  fair  Shin  mounted  his  stiff-legged 
steed  and  rode  slowly  out  upon  the  track.  He 
counted  and  found  that  fifteen  other  horses  were 
entered,  the  only  formidable  rivals  to  Rattlesnake 
being  Doodlebug  and  Nigger  Blackie. 

There  are  various  methods  in  use  among  horse 
men  to  extract  speed  from  their  race-horses. 


270  All  is  Fair 

Sometimes  a  jockey  carries  an  electric  battery 
in  one  of  his  riding  boots,  and  the  battery  is  con 
nected  with  copper  wire  to  his  spurs;  sometimes 
the  battery  is  hidden  in  the  saddle  and  the  saddle 
is  stitched  and  lined  with  copper  wire;  sometimes 
the  battery  is  concealed  in  the  butt  end  of  the 
riding  whip.  These  methods  often  lead  to  the 
detection  of  dishonesty.  A  better  way  is  to  carry 
a  hand  buzzer  and  apply  the  juice  until  the  race 
is  won;  then  the  jockey  can  toss  the  hand  buzzer 
over  the  fence  and  defy  the  inspection  of  the 
judges.  Sometimes  a  groom  or  rubber  pours  a 
bottle  of  liquid  called  " High  Life"  over  the  horse's 
back,  or  administers  a  dose  of  dope;  in  that  case 
the  jockey  has  the  struggle  of  his  life  to  prevent  his 
horse  from  climbing  into  the  judges'  stand  before 
he  can  get  a  start. 

But  Shin  Bone  pulled  the  most  unique  stunt 
ever  attempted  on  a  race- track. 

The  best  speed  extractor  in  the  world  for  white 
flesh,  colored  flesh,  or  horse  flesh  is  Fright.  Fear 
will  make  a  lame  man  walk,  a  crippled  horse  run, 
and  a  paralyzed  negro  sprout  wings  and  fly. 

Shin  rode  Rattlesnake  without  spurs,  or  whip, 
or  dope,  or  high  life,  or  electricity.  All  in  the 
world  that  he  had  to  induce  his  horse  to  run  was  a 
handful  of  toy  baby  rattles  which  he  had  swiped 
from  the  nursery  of  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill's  grand 
child.  Woven  in  Rattlesnake's  plaited  mane  were 
half  a  dozen  celluloid  balls,  containing  two  or  three 
buckshot  each  and  marks  outside  of  a  baby's  tiny 
teeth. 


All  is  Fair  271 

As  Rattlesnake  stumped  about  on  his  stiff  leg 
they  made  no  disturbing  sound;  but  Shin  had 
learned  by  experiment  that  a  little  burst  of  speed 
started  the  rattling,  and  the  big  horse  did  the 
rest! 

The  fifteen  horses  trotted  down  toward  the 
starter's  stand  in  a  pretty  fair  alignment.  Vine 
gar  Atts,  the  starter,  was  tired  of  his  week's  work 
and  easy  to  please. 

"Go!"  he  whooped. 

Rattlesnake  broke  into  an  awkward  gallop. 
Then  Shin  Bone  reached  back  and  pulled  a  string 
in  the  rear  of  his  saddle. 

Four  noisy  celluloid  baby  rattles,  each  sus 
pended  from  a  strong  string,  dropped  down  around 
the  legs  of  Rattlesnake. 

The  horse  heard  that  deadly,  venomous  rattle, 
and  felt  something  touch  his  flanks  and  drop  fur 
ther  and  tap  him  on  the  legs ;  right  behind  his  ears 
he  heard  a  dreadful  whirring  sound,  as  if  a  snake 
were  entwined  in  his  mane ! 

He  uttered  a  scream  so  shrill,  so  horrible,  that 
every  negro  in  the  grandstand  shuddered. 

Then  he  leaped  forward,  and  the  pop-eyed 
negroes  had  never  seen  such  running  in  their  lives ! 

Rattlesnake's  body  lay  out  in  a  level  line,  nose, 
shoulder,  back,  and  his  flying  legs  were  a  yellow 
blur  beneath  his  straining  body.  But  not  all  the 
thunder  of  his  going  could  deaden  the  sound  of 
that  fearful  rattle,  which  whirred  like  the  wind  in 
his  ears,  stirring  the  remembrance  of  suffering  and 
sickness  and  the  agony  of  the  cauterizing  iron ! 


272  All  is  Fair 

Faster,  faster,  faster  Rattlesnake  ran,  his  feet 
spurning  the  brown  carpet  of  turf  beneath  him,  his 
crippled  hind  leg  limbering  up  for  the  last  time  in 
his  life  and  shooting  his  body  forward  like  the 
piston  rod  of  an  engine. 

The  race  was  won  in  an  incredible  time. 

As  the  terrified  horse  shot  under  the  wire  Shin 
reached  behind  his  saddle  and  tore  loose  the  cords 
which  held  the  rattles  flapping  around  the  animal's 
flanks;  then  he  ran  his  hands  through  the  plaited 
mane  and  pulled  off  the  rattles  which  whirred 
behind  Rattlesnake's  ears,  and  the  horse  slowly 
slackened  his  speed  and  stopped,  his  sides  heaving, 
his  breath  coming  and  going  like  a  giant  bellows. 

When  the  other  horses  came  in  Shin  rode  slowly 
back  and  held  up  his  hand. 

"Judges?  "he  called. 

Vinegar  Atts  nodded  his  head  and  waved  his 
hand  toward  the  stable. 

When  Shin  Bone  dismounted  at  the  stall  Whiffle 
Boone  ran  forward  with  the  tears  running  down 
her  laughing  face. 

She  jerked  Shin's  hat  from  his  head,  turned  it 
upside  down  on  the  ground  and  filled  it  with 
money.  Then  she  threw  her  arms  around  the 
graceful,  throbbing,  sweating  neck  of  the  big  sorrel 
horse. 

"We  win!"  she  sobbed.  "Bless  Gawd!  We 
win!" 

All  this  happened  three  years  ago,  and  there  has 
never  been  another  race  at  any  Tickf all  Negro  Fair. 


All  is  Fair  273 

For  three  years  Shin  Bone's  wife  has  been  in 
charge  of  the  restaurant  which  she  bought  with 
her  winnings  in  the  last  great  race.  For  three 
years  Shin  Bone  has  met  every  train  with  a  light 
wagon  drawn  by  a  pie-faced,  stiff-legged  sorrel 
horse.  His  owner  "wrastles  trunks  an'  gripsacks 
fer  de  white  folks. "  His  horse  is  as  fat  as  butter, 
but  he  runs  away  every  time  he  hears  a  rattling 
sound. 

Last  fall  Shin  and  Whiffle  drove  Rattlesnake 
out  to  the  fairground  and  entered  a  two-year-old 
negro  boy  in  the  Better  Babies'  contest.  Colonel 
Tom  Gaitskill  had  offered  handsome  prizes  in  this 
contest  and  was  in  charge. 

"This  is  your  son,  Shin?"  Gaitskill  smiled  as 
he  entered  the  piccaninny's  name  and  age  in  a 
large  book. 

"Yes,  suh." 

"I  presume  it  is  a  eugenic,  hygienic  baby?" 
Gaitskill  laughed. 

"Yes,  suh,"  Shin  replied,  wondering  at  the 
same  time  what  Gaitskill  meant.  "Yes,  suh.  He 
gits  de  you- jeans  from  his  maw  an'  de  high- jeans 
from  his  paw.  He's  a  shore  winner!'* 

18 


Hoodoo   Face. 


THE  STRANGER. 

DINNER  GAZE  bore  the  air  of  a  man  who  was 
perfectly  satisfied  with  his  personal  appearance 
and  sure  of  making  a  good  impression  upon  all  who 
beheld  him. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  in  the  negro  coach  o 
the  New  Orleans  accommodation,  using  the  seat 
in  front  of  him  as  a  footstool.  His  legs  were 
crossed  with  a  display  of  glorious  silk  hosiery,  his 
thumbs  were  anchored  in  the  armholes  of  his  gold 
and  purple  vest,  his  bright  green  cravat  contained 
a  bright  yellow  diamond,  and  his  cigarette-stained 
fingers  beat  a  happy  tattoo  upon  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt. 

The  face  of  Dinner  Gaze  was  black,  and  as 
expressionless  as  the  ugly  mug  of  a  dough  man. 
There  was  a  long  mark  upon  his  cheek  where  a 
bullet  had  missed  the  center  of  his  face  about  two 
inches.  There  was  a  long  knife-scar  on  the  back 
and  side  of  his  neck.  A  bit  of  the  upper  part  of 
his  left  ear  was  missing,  sliced  off  smoothly  with 

274 


Hoodoo  Face  275 

a  sharp  knife  or  razor.  The  end  of  one  of  his 
front  teeth  was  broken  off.  His  eyes  were  as 
steady  and  unwinking  and  shiny  as  two  glass 
beads,  his  voice  was  low  and  soft  and  confidential 
in  tone,  and  his  heavy  lips  carried  an  habitual 
sneer. 

Hitch  Diamond,  who  sat  beside  him,  was  simi 
larly  satisfied. 

Hitch's  appearance  cried  aloud  his  profession  of 
pugilist.  His  face  was  a  scarred  ruin,  battered 
and  bruised  in  many  a  fistic  battle  until  it  resem 
bled  the  face  of  the  Sphinx  since  it  has  been  pecked 
at  and  damaged  by  the  souvenir  hunters  and  sand 
storms  of  the  centuries.  His  ponderous  hands 
looked  like  the  gnarled  and  twisted  roots  of  a  scrub- 
oak  tree,  while  his  legs  were  like  the  Corinthian 
columns  supporting  the  portico  of  a  temple. 

Hitch  had  made  a  trip  to  New  Orleans  for  pugi 
listic  purposes.  At  the  end  of  the  second  round, 
Hitch  had  looked  down  at  his  opponent,  then 
waved  his  gloved  fist  at  the  whooping  crowd  and 
remarked:  "I  know  whut  I  done  to  dat  coon! 
He's  gwine  sleep  a  long  time!"  After  which 
Hitch  had  collected  a  hatful  of  money  and  re 
mained  in  New  Orleans  long  enough  to  get  it  all 
nicely  spent  except  a  puny  wad  in  one  pocket  of  his 
shiny  new  pantaloons. 

Every  rag  of  clothes  on  Hitch's  giant  body  was 
entirely  new.  He  was  swathed  in  a  Prince  Albert 
coat,  choked  and  tortured  by  a  high  collar  and  a 
stiff-bosomed  shirt;  a  glorious  silk  hat,  all  white 
silk  lining  on  the  inside,  and  smooth,  shiny, 


276  Hoodoo  Face 

imitation  beaver  on  the  outside,  rode  on  his  head ; 
while  on  his  feet  were  a  pair  of  patent-leather 
shoes  which  had  caused  him  a  world  of  trouble  in 
the  city. 

He  had  walked  for  miles,  in  and  out  of  the 
stores,  seeking  a  pair  of  shiny  shoes  which  would 
fit  his  immense  feet.  Shoe  clerks  had  taken  one 
look  at  those  pedal  extremities  and  had  thrown 
up  their  hands  in  despair.  But  Hitch  had  per 
sisted  in  his  search,  and  now  it  was  plainly  appar 
ent  to  all  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not 
shod  like  such  as  he. 

Dinner  Gaze  was  listening  with  great  interest 
to  Hitch's  talk. 

"I  ain't  went  to  N'Awleens  befo'  fer  mighty 
nigh  five  year, "  said  Hitch  as  he  extracted  a  long 
Perique  stogie  from  the  side-pocket  of  his  gorgeous 
yellow  waistcoat. 

Dinner  Gaze  reached  out,  took  the  stogie  from 
Hitch's  giant  hand,  and  tossed  it  out  of  the  win 
dow.  He  handed  the  pugilist  a  big,  fat  cigar  with 
a  broad  gold  band,  and  grinned  in  a  friendly  way. 
Then  he  said  in  his  low,  gentle  voice: 

"Ef  you  wants  me  to  set  by  you,  don't  smoke  no 
roll  of  rags  an'  garbage.  Take  a  real  seegar!" 

"Thank  'e,  suh,"  Hitch  murmured  gratefully, 
removing  the  gold  band  and  fitting  it  carefully 
upon  his  little  finger  where  he  admired  it  as  a 
maiden  admires  her  engagement  ring.  * '  I's  power 
ful  sorry  dar  ain't  no  lady  folks  in  dis  car  to  see 
me  smoke  dis.  I  ain't  never  feel  like  I  had 
enough  money  to  ack  liberal  an'  buy  real  smokes. " 


Hoodoo  Face  277 

"Ain't  you  spek  dat  you  got  a  wad  to  tote  home 
from  de  city  wid  you?"  Gaze  inquired  carelessly, 
as  he  tore  a  page  from  a  newspaper  and  began  idly 
to  roll  it  tightly. 

"Shore!"  Hitch  chuckled.  "I  totes  it  in  my 
behime  hip-pocket  next  to  my  heart,  whar  unpious 
niggers  totes  dey  gun.  But  most  of  dat  is  jes'  show 
money — 'tain't  much,  an*  I  got  it  wropped  up  in  a 
roll  to  make  it  look  like  a  plenty.  Fawty  dollars 
is  all  whut  is  lef '  of  my  trip  to  de  city — excusin'  de 
mem'ry  of  a  dam'  good  time,  an*  dese  clothes!" 

"Whar  you  gwine  now?"  Dinner  asked  as  he 
fumbled  with  his  paper. 

"  I's  gittin'  off  at  Sawtown, ' '  Hitch  replied.  ' '  I 
been  livin'  aroun'  in  dis  part  of  de  worl'  all  my 
life,  an'  I  ain't  never  seed  dat  big  saw-mill  town  yit. 
'Tain't  been  but  'bout  fo'  year  ago  dat  Sawtown 
started  off— when  dey  sot  dat  big  mill  dar  in  de 
woods. " 

"I's  proud  I  met  up  wid  you,  Revun, "  Dinner 
Gaze  said.  "I  lives  in  Sawtown,  an'  I'll  show  you 
all  de  good  p'ints  in  de  place. " 

Hitch  opened  his  mouth  to  deny  that  he  was  a 
preacher,  but  the  negro's  natural  love  of  the  game 
of  make-believe  prevented  him.  His  slow  mind 
evolved  the  humor  of  the  situation,  and  he  be 
stowed  a  pious  smile  upon  the  man  beside  him. 

"Thank  'e,  suh.  I  ain't  gwine  let  nothin'  git 
past  me.  I's  gwine  to  all  de  shows,  an'  drink  all  de 
ice-water  I  kin  git,  an'  chaw  peanuts,  an'  git  right 
in  de  middle  of  de  cullud  high  life. " 

"Dat  picayune  way  of  seein'  Sawtown  won't  git 


278  Hoodoo  Face 

you  nothin',"  Dinner  Gaze  grunted  disgustedly. 
"Bust  her  wide  open,  Revun!" 

"How  is  dat  did?"  Hitch  wanted  to  know. 

"I'll  show  you!"  Gaze  told  him. 

"Whut  job  does  you  wuck  at  in  Sawtown?" 
Hitch  asked. 

"I'm  gittin'  ready  to  sot  up  a  little  nigger  gam- 
blin' -house  in  Sawtown  now,"  Dinner  replied 
cautiously,  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "Befo* 
dat,  I  managed  a  string  of  nigger  prize-fighters  in 
N'Awleens." 

Hitch  raised  his  battered  head  like  an  old, 
scarred  war-horse  when  he  hears  the  bugle-call  for 
charge.  Then  he  remembered  that  Gaze  thought 
he  was  talking  to  a  clergyman. 

"Dat  shore  sounds  familious  to  me,"  Hitch 
laughed.  "I  used  to  be  a  prize-fighter  my  own 
se'f!" 

" Hear  dat,  now! "  Dinner  Gaze  exclaimed.  " ] 
knowed  you  an*  me  wus  kinnery  when  I  fust  cotch 
you  wid  my  eye.  How  come  you  left  de  greal 
perfesh?" 

"A  nigger  put  a  chunk  of  lead  in  his  glove  an' 
battered  me  clean  acrost  a  wharf -boat, "  Hitch 
narrated,  drawing  upon  his  imagination,  and 
recalling  an  incident  in  the  career  of  his  friend, 
the  Reverend  Vinegar  Atts.  "Atter  dat  I  felt  a 
call  to  preach." 

"  Mebbe  you  could  come  back, "  Gaze  suggested. 

"Naw,  suh,"  Hitch  grinned,  quoting  a  remark 
he  had  heard  Vinegar  make.  "PreachnY  is  a 
plum'  sight  safer.  I  kin  git  up  befo'  a  lot  of 


Hoodoo  Face  279 

Christyums  an*  knock  noses  an*  pull  hair  an'  skin 
shins  all  I'm  got  a  mind  to,  an'  all  dey  kin  do  is  to 
turn  aroun'  de  yuther  cheek.  Ef  dey  hits  back, 
dey  ain't  pious!" 

The  odor  of  wet,  sawed,  sun-scorched  lumber 
entered  the  car  window.  The  suction  of  the 
moving  train  threw  sawdust  upon  the  seat  where 
the  feet  of  the  two  men  rested.  They  were  draw 
ing  near  to  the  station  at  Sawtown. 

"  Revun, "  Dinner  asked,  as  he  rose,  "is  you  ever 
read  up  on  dat  Bible  text  whut  says  'I  wus  a 
stranger  an'  I  got  took  in'?" 

"Suttinly,"  Hitch  prevaricated. 

"My  last  advices  to  you  is  to  keep  a  eye  on  de 
people  in  dis  here  Sawtown.  Dey  takes  a  stranger 
in  good  an'  plenty!" 

Dinner  dusted  off  his  patent-leather  shoes, 
adjusted  his  immaculate  cuffs,  felt  of  his  green  tie 
and  his  yellow  diamond,  lifted  his  Panama  hat  out 
of  the  rack,  and  brushed  the  cigar  ashes  off  his 
gold  and  purple  vest. 

"  Drap  in  de  Hot-dog  Club  an'  gimme  a  look-on, 
Revun!"  Gaze  invited  as  he  stepped  into  the  aisle. 
"I  handles  a  pretty  peart  gamblin'  game  ef  I  do 
say  it  myse'f!" 

The  train  stopped. 

Dinner  Gaze  waited  in  the  aisle,  courteously 
permitting  Hitch  Diamond  to  precede  him. 

As  Hitch  passed  out,  Dinner  Gaze  cautiously 
elevated  the  tail  of  the  pugilist's  Prince  Albert 
coat,  carefully  thrust  two  scissors-like  fingers  into 
Hitch's  hip-pocket  and  drew  out  a  small  roll  of 


280  Hoodoo  Face 

money.  In  its  place  he  thrust  a  wad  of  newspaper 
of  about  the  same  size.  When  the  train  had  gone 
on,  Hitch  looked  for  his  friend  and  could  not 
find  him. 

"Bar  now!"  he  exclaimed.  "Dat  wus  a  fine 
nigger  man  an*  I  done  loss  him  complete,  an*  I 
even  f ergot  to  ax  him  whut  wus  his  name!" 


II 


"TOOK  IN." 


"  De  fust  thing  I  needs  is  a  sack  of  peanuts  an1  a 
awange  to  cut  de  dust  outen  my  throat,"  Hitch 
said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  slowly  down  the 
village  street. 

He  entered  a  small  grocery,  made  his  purchases, 
and  thrust  his  fingers  into  his  hip-pocket  to  bring 
forth  his  money. 

Instead  he  extracted  a  wad  of  newspapers. 

Hitch  stupidly  unfolded  the  paper,  gazed  at  it 
with  hypnotic  fascination,  searched  all  his  pockets 
for  his  lost  money,  then  searched  them  again, 
hunting  for  loose  change. 

The  disgusted  clerk  tossed  the  bag  of  peanuts 
back  into  the  roaster,  laid  the  orange  back  on  the 
shelf,  walked  over  to  a  chair  and  sat  down,  his 
mind  spluttering  like  wet  fireworks  with  his  un 
spoken  comments  on  the  colored  race  in  general 
and  Hitch  in  particular. 

Hitch  stumbled  stupidly  out  of  the  store,  broke 
and  broken-hearted. 


Hoodoo  Face  281 

He  looked  around  him  uncertainly,  then  dragged 
his  ponderous  feet  back  toward  the  depot,  hoping 
to  find  his  lost  money.  After  half  an  hour's 
search  he  gave  it  up  and  started  aimlessly  toward 
the  river. 

Half-way  down  the  block  he  met  a  tall  negro 
whose  face  was  slightly  disfigured  by  a  broken 
nose.  The  man  wore  a  checkerboard  suit  of 
clothes,  a  cowboy  hat,  and  a  sport  shirt.  Hitch's 
eyes  fell  first  upon  the  emblem  of  a  negro  lodge 
which  the  man  wore  on  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

Hitch  eagerly  laid  hold  upon  his  lodge  brother, 
"  I's  in  powerful  bad  trouble,  brudder,"  he  moaned. 
"  I  ain't  know  nobody  in  dis  town  an'  I  done  loss  all 
my  money  on  my  way  to  dis  place.  Whut  kin  be 
did?" 

11  De  next  best  thing  is  to  go  down  to  de  big  mill 
an'  set  on  de  buzz-saw, "  the  brother  advised. 

"Whut  good  will  dat  do  me?"  Hitch  inquired. 

"It'll  fix  you  so  trouble  won't  trouble  you  no 
more,"  Checkerboard  grinned,  patting  Hitch  on 
his  powerful  back.  "Atter  you  takes  yo'  seat 
you  won't  need  no  money — de  Nights  of  Darkness 
lodge  will  bury  yo'  remainders  free  fer  nothin' 
an'  sot  you  up  a  real  nice  tombstone." 

"I  got  plenty  white  folks  in  my  own  home 
town,"  Hitch  continued,  paying  no  attention  to 
his  companion's  foolishness.  "  I  mought  could  git 
some  he'p  mebbe  ef  I  had  somewhar  to  wait  at 
on  til  dey  sont  me  de  money." 

The  checkerboard  negro  looked  Hitch  over; 
then  his  eyes  narrowed  and  he  smiled. 


282  Hoodoo  Face 

"As  a  lodge  brudder  in  good  standin',  I  could 
lead  you  to  my  own  house  an*  keep  you  a  little 
while,"  Checkerboard  remarked.  "Whar  is  yo' 
lodge  pin?" 

Hitch  glanced  down  at  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

"My  gosh!"  he  mourned.  "I  done  loss  my 
money  an*  my  lodge  breastpin  too.  Dat  breast 
pin  wus  jes'  perzackly  like  de  one  you  is  got  on  an* 
wus  gib  me  by  Skeeter  Butts." 

"Suttinly, "  Checkerboard  laughed.  "Dey  is 
all  made  alike  an'  look  jes'  de  same.  Mebbe  de 
feller  whut  touched  yo'  wad  frisked  yo'  pin,  too." 

"Dat's  whut  happened,"  Hitch  sighed.  "But 
it  don't  he'p  me  none  to  know  dat  news." 

"  You'se  too  blame  young  to  be  trabbelin'  alone," 
Checkerboard  snickered.  "You  needs  a  fust-rate 
gardeen.  Foller  atter  me ! " 

He  conducted  Hitch  to  the  rear  of  the  big  saw 
mill,  led  him  through  a  maze  of  immense  lumber 
piles,  and  brought  him  around  the  big  mill-pond 
to  a  cluster  of  houses  built  by  the  owners  of  the 
mill  for  the  occupancy  of  their  negro  employees. 

There  was  one  two-story  house  which  looked  like 
a  barracks,  and  was  intended  for  use  by  men  who 
had  no  families.  Into  this  Checkerboard  led  his 
companion. 

"Set  down,  Revun,"  he  smiled.  "Dis  here  is 
my  boardin' -house.  I  keeps  it  fer  de  'commo- 
dation  of  de  nigger  workers  in  de  mill  whut  ain't 
got  no  wifes  an'  no  home.  Dey  eats  in  dat 
eatin'-house  down  dar  by  de  mill-pond  an'  sleeps 
here." 


Hoodoo  Face  283 

"It's  powerful  hot  in  dis  place/'  Hitch  com 
plained  as  he  seated  himself. 

"We  keeps  de  winders  down  in  de  daytime 
because  eve'ybody  whut  stays  here  is  busy  in  de 
mill,"  Checkerboard  explained,  as  he  pulled  off  his 
coat  and  hung  it  across  his  arm.  "Pull  off  dat 
coat  of  yourn,  an*  I'll  take  yo'  stove-pipe  hat  an* 
coat  an'  hang  'em  up  wid  mine." 

Hitch  gratefully  removed  his  hat  and  coat  and 
sat  down.  He  took  a  stogie  from  his  vest-pocket 
and  felt  for  a  match. 

"Don't  you  wanter  take  off  dat  vest,  too?" 
Checkerboard  inquired.  "You  might  git  seegar 
ash  all  over  it." 

"Dat's  right,"  Hitch  said,  as  he  handed  his 
friend  the  vest. 

"Make  yo'se'f  at  home,  Revun,"  Checkerboard 
Said  graciously.  "Smoke  all  you  please  to — spit 
on  de  flo' — ack  like  you  wus  at  yo'  own  house !  I 
got  to  hump  aroun'  a  leetle  on  bizzness  befo'  de 
mill  blows  de  whistle  fer  closin'  time.  But  I  tells 
you  in  eggsvance,  dat  as  fur's  I'm  concerned,  you 
kin  stay  in  dis  house  fer  a  mont'." 

"You  is  a  true  lodge  brudder, "  Hitch  rumbled 
in  real  gratitude.  "I  won't  never  fergit  you!" 

Checkerboard  left  the  room,  walked  through 
the  hallway,  passed  out  of  the  rear  door,  clam 
bered  down  into  a  gulley,  and  carried  Hitch's 
clothes  through  a  labyrinth  of  lumber  piles  to  a 
place  far,  far  away ! 

Hitch  waited  for  nearly  an  hour  for  Checker 
board  to  return.  Feeling  the  lack  of  companion- 


284  Hoodoo  Face 


ship,  he  walked  down  to  the  mill-pond  and  accosted 
the  slouchy  negro  woman  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
eating-house. 

To  his  surprise  he  learned  that  she  had  never 
seen  nor  heard  of  the  man  in  the  checkerboard 
suit. 

"It  'pears  to  me  like  dese  here  folks  ain't  plum' 
honest,"  Hitch  mourned  as  he  walked  discon 
solately  around  the  mill-pond  trying  to  find  his 
way  back  to  the  village. 

He  spent  a  long  time  looking  for  the  man  who 
had  his  clothes,  mumbling  complainingly  to  him 
self  the  while.  At  last  he  wandered  to  the  wharf 
on  the  Mississippi  River  and  sat  down  with  his 
back  resting  against  a  post. 

His  feet  were  unaccustomed  to  the  wear  of 
patent-leather  shoes,  and  they  felt  swollen  and 
tired.  He  took  off  his  shoes,  set  them  side  by  side 
in  front  of  him,  waved  his  feet  in  the  cool  river 
breeze,  and  gazed  upon  his  footwear  lovingly. 

"I  kin  git  me  anodder  hat  an'  coat,"  he  mut 
tered.  "But  dem  shoes  would  be  a  powerful 
loss.  Dar  ain't  no  more  shoes  in  N'Awleens  dat'll 
fit  my  foots!" 

Half  a  block  away  two  little  white  boys  were 
cutting  monkey-shines  on  the  sidewalk.  In  the 
dusty  gutter  one  boy  picked  up  a  long,  black 
stocking. 

The  two  considered  this  find  for  a  moment,  then 
they  gathered  small  sticks  and  thrust  them  into 
the  stocking.  One  youth  produced  a  ball  of  kite 
twine  and  tied  an  end  of  the  twine  around  the  open 


Hoodoo  Face  285 

end  of  the  stocking.  After  that,  they  dropped 
the  stocking  upon  the  pavement  and  pulled  it  along 
by  the  string,  observing  the  effect. 

"It  wiggles  all  right, "  they  chuckled. 

They  looked  around  for  a  victim  and  spotted 
Hitch  Diamond. 

One  of  the  boys  held  the  stocking  and  concealed 
himself  behind  a  pile  of  lumber  on  the  wharf.  The 
other  boy,  playing  out  the  ball  of  twine,  walked 
along  the  wharf,  his  bare  feet  making  no  sound. 
He  passed  close  behind  Hitch  Diamond  and  stopped 
and  concealed  himself  on  the  other  side  of  some 
shipping  about  one  hundred  feet  beyond  the  point 
where  Hitch  Diamond  sat. 

Then  the  boy  with  the  ball  began  to  wind  the 
twine  in.  The  long  black  stocking  crawled  up 
closer  and  closer  to  the  inert  form  of  Hitch  Dia 
mond. 

Finally,  when  the  stocking  had  wriggled  gro 
tesquely  to  within  ten  feet  of  Hitch  Diamond, 
there  was  a  loud  whoop — a  white  boy  ran  from 
behind  some  lumber  and  shrieked : 

"Look  at  that  sna-a-a-ke,  nigger!    Jump!" 

Hitch  jumped. 

He  sprinted  down  the  wharf  a  hundred  yards, 
pattering  along  in  his  sock  feet,  leaving  his  precious 
shoes  behind  him. 

The  little  white  boy  shrieked  with  laughter, 
picked  up  the  wriggling  stocking,  and  jumped 
next  for  Hitch's  shoes. 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  filled  with  awe  when 
he  beheld  their  monstrous  and  incredible  size; 


286  Hoodoo  Face 

then,  doubtless  reflecting  upon  their  resemblance 
to  a  big  mudscow,  he  put  each  shoe  where  a  mud- 
scow  properly  belongs — in  the  river ! 

"Hey,  you  nigger!"  a  wharf  watchman  called 
sharply,  as  Hitch,  looking  behind  him,  ran  full  tilt 
into  the  watchman's  portly  form. 

"'Scuse  me,  boss!"  Hitch  grunted. 

The  watchman  hung  three  strong  fingers  in  the 
collar  of  Hitch's  white  shirt.  Hitch  didn't  like 
that.  He  pulled  away.  The  watchman  pulled 
too.  The  inevitable  happened. 

Hitch's  shirt  tore  half  in  two  and  hung  limply  in 
the  watchman's  hands  as  Hitch  raced  down  the 
wharf  clad  in  socks,  pants,  and  a  red  undershirt! 

The  watchman  disgustedly  tossed  his  spoils  on 
top  of  a  lumber  pile  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
placid  contemplation  of  the  flight  of  some  gulls  on 
the  river. 

"Lawd, "  Hitch  sighed,  when  he  had  dodged 
around  the  distant  end  of  the  wharf  and  had  time 
to  look  down  at  his  deficient  apparel.  "Dis 
here  town  shore  is  hard  on  clothes!" 

Ill 

FOURTEEN   SWALLOWS. 

Keeping  the  river  levee  between  himself  and 
the  town  so  that  no  one  could  see  him  in  his 
half-dressed  condition,  Hitch  departed  from  the 
vicinity  of  Sawtown  with  expedition.  When  he 
reached  the  edge  of  the  woods  about  a  mile  from 


Hoodoo  Face  287 

the  mill,  he  sat  down  to  think  a  way  out  of  his 
difficulties. 

"My  head  is  jes'  like  a  mule's  head,"  he  an 
nounced  to  himself.  "I  cain't  hold  but  only  one 
notion  at  a  time.  I  been  thinkin'  so  heavy  all 
de  time  about  my  lost  money  dat  I  done  loss  all 
my  good  clothes,  too.  I  ought er  knowed  better. 
Now  I's  gwine  git  active  an'  sot  myse'f  up  in 
bizzness  agin." 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  in  deep,  silent  medi 
tation,  trying  to  extract  an  idea  from  his  slow 
brain.  Then  he  concluded : 

"I  drunk  too  much  dram  in  N'Awleens.  My 
head  ain't  right.  Ef  I  could  git  me  a  good  dram 
now,  mebbe  I  could  think  up  a  notion  whut  to 
do." 

In  his  impoverished  condition  he  saw  no  way 
of  buying  a  drink.  He  cast  about  to  see  what  he 
possessed  which  he  might  exchange  for  one,  and 
pulled  out  of  his  hip-pocket  his  silk  socks,  the  joy 
and  pride  of  his  life  in  their  glorious^  coloring — 
purple,  striped  with  yellow ! 

"Dey  costed  me  two  dollars,"  Hitch  sighed  as 
he  gazed  upon  them  fondly.  "I  could  swap  'em 
off  in  Sawtown,  but  I  ain't  gwine  back  dar  no  more. 
Ef  I  does,  some  nigger  will  steal  my  pants  an'  my 
socks,  too.  Plenty  of  country  niggers  is  got  dram. ' ' 

He  walked  barefooted  through  the  woods  and 
came  out  at  a  level  plantation  some  distance  back 
from  the  river.  In  the  middle  of  a  cow-pasture, 
a  tall,  brown,  bright-eyed  negro  watched  Hitch 
approach  with  impassive  curiosity. 


288  Hoodoo  Face 

' '  Howdy,  my  brudder ! ' '  Hitch  boomed.  ' '  How 
am  yo'  soul  an'  spirit  dis  day?" 

"De  spirit  is  pretty  low,  elder,"  the  farmer 
replied.  "De  ole  woman  am  got  de  dram  all 
locked  up  tight. " 

"How  come  you  choose  de  lily-pad  route  an' 
live  on  water?"  Hitch  asked  in  a  disappointed 
tone. 

"I  got  married,"  the  young  negro  responded 
with  a  grin. 

Suddenly  a  big  Jersey  bull  broke  through  the 
underbrush  and  came  toward  the  two  men,  snort 
ing,  bellowing,  pawing  the  ground,  tossing  the  dirt 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  shaking  his  powerful 
head. 

"Dat's  mine,  stranger,"  the  young  man  re 
marked  proudly,  removing  the  top  from  a  bucket 
on  his  arm  and  tossing  a  handful  of  salt  at  the 
animal's  feet.  "He  don't  like  dat  red  undershirt 
of  your'n.  Ain't  him  a  dandy?" 

"Shore  is,"  Hitch  said  meditatively.  After  a 
moment,  he  added:  "Ef  dat  ole  bull  wus  to  hook 
one  of  us,  I  'speck  yo'  bride  would  affode  us  a 
little  dram  to  stimulate  us  up. " 

"I  resigns  in  yo'  favor,  elder,"  the  owner 
grinned.  "Ef  dis  here  beast  wus  to  butt  me,  he'd 
jolt  all  my  kinnery  plum'  back  to  Afriky. " 

There  was  a  period  of  silent  and  fruitless 
meditation.  Then,  sorrowfully,  Hitch  Diamond 
reached  to  his  hip-pocket  and  brought  forth  his 
purple  socks  with  the  yellow  stripes — all,  except 
his  trousers,  that  remained  of  his  former  glory. 


Hoodoo  Face  289 

"Whut's  yo*  name?"  Hitch  asked. 

"Dey  calls  me  Dude  Blackum  because  I  got  a 
gold  tooth,"  the  other  informed  him. 

"Whut  is  yo'  wife  called?"  Hitch  asked  next. 

"Dainty." 

"I  wants  to  make  a  little  trade,  Dude,"  Hitch 
remarked,  after  he  had  told  his  own  name.  "Dese 
here  socks  costed  me  two  dollars.  My  head  ain't 
thinkin'  right  to-day.  You  is  a  heavy  thinker. 
Ef  you  kin  think  up  a  sketch  of  how  I  kin  git  a 
dram  right  now,  I'll  bestow  dese  here  socks  on 
you. " 

"De  trade  is  did!"  Dude  grinned,  showing  his 
gold  tooth.  ' '  Lemme  think ! ' ' 

"Bawl  out,  nigger!"  Hitch  grumbled  after  a 
little  wait.  "Don't  keep  me  waitin'  here  in  ex 
pense  no  longer. " 

"I  wus  studyin'  'bout  dis,"  Dude  said.  "I's 
got  a  little  touch  of  lumbago  in  my  legs.  An' 
mebbe,  ef  dat  bull  would  jes'  butt  me  real  easy 
like,  an*  I'd  kinder  drap  off  in  dat  bayou  an'  git 
wet,  an'  den  walk  back  home  in  drippy  clothes  wid 
dis  mis'ry  gnawin'  at  my  legs " 

Hitch's  face  was  so  expressive  of  contempt 
that  Dude  stopped  speaking. 

"Is  dat  whut  you  call  heavy  thinkin'?"  Hitch 
inquired  in  sarcastic  tones.  "Dat  high-brow 
plan  might  steal  you  a  nubbin  of  corn  from  a  blind 
pig's  slop-trough.  But  Dainty  ain't  no  blind  pig 
— dese  here  brides  gits  awful  wise  on  deir  hus- 
bunts  atter  dey  marries  'em.  " 

"Wait  till  I  finish,  Hitch,"  Dude  begged. 
19 


290  Hoodoo  Face 

"Now,  my  view  is  dis:  you  go  up  to  de  house  an' 
cornverse  Dainty  till  I  comes  in  all  wet  an' 
mournin'  'bout  how  hurt  I  is.  Atter  I  come  in, 
you  say  to  Dainty  dat  she  better  gimme  a  dram 
because  I's  so  crippled  up.  Of  co'se,  she  will  hab 
to  be  manners  an'  gib  you  some,  too. " 

"Dar,  now!"  Hitch  boomed.  "You  shore  is  a 
smart  boy,  Dude.  Dat  plan  is  accawdin'  to  de 
Bible,  wise  as  suppents  an*  harmless  as  ducks. 
But" 

Here  Hitch  broke  off  and  looked  down  at  his 
clothes. 

"  It  'pears  to  me  it  ain't  proper  to  call  on  a  lady 
when  I  is  barefooted  an'  ain't  got  nothin'  on  but  a 
pair  of  pants  an'  a  red  undershirt,"  he  mourned. 

"Dat  won't  make  no  diffunce, "  Dude  assured 
him.  "All  de  niggers  wucks  in  de  big  mill  dresses 
jes'  like  you  is  now.  Dainty  will  figger  dat  you  is 
a  sawmill  hand.  Talk  right  up  to  her,  Revun ' ' — 

"I  ain't  no  preacher!"  Hitch  interrupted, 
growling  like  an  angry  bear.  "  I's  a  prize-fighter. ' ' 

"Dat  won't  do,"  Dude  chuckled,  as  he  looked 
at  the  giant's  mighty  arms  and  shoulders.  "  Dainty 
is  powerful  sot  on  preachers.  I  'speck  you  better 
be  one  as  long  as  you  is  hangin'  aroun'  her." 

"All  right,"  Hitch  said  reluctantly,  as  he 
started  away.  "I  ain't  none  too  good  or  too 
proud  to  piddle  wid  dat  job — ef  I  got  to." 

"Hoi'  on,  Hitch!"  Dude  exclaimed.  "You 
ain't  gimme  dem  silk  socks  yit!" 

Hitch's  experience  in  Sawtown  had  made  him 
cautious.  After  a  man  has  parted  with  a  certain 


Hoodoo  Face  291 

amount  of  his  wearing  apparel,  he  becomes  reluct 
ant  to  separate  himself  from  the  rest  in  a  civilized 
community  unless  he  contemplates  becoming  a  he- 
mermaid  and  living  in  the  river. 

Hitch  held  out  one  sock. 

"I'll  gib  you  one  sock  now,  Dude,"  he  said 
cunningly.  "Dat'll  keep  yo'  mind  int'rusted. 
Atter  I  git  de  dram,  I'll  leave  de  yuther  sock  on  de 
flo'  or  de  mantlepiece,  kinder  keerless  like." 

Dude  accepted  the  partial  payment  and  stuck 
the  gaudy  sock  into  his  derby  hat  and  placed  the 
hat  on  his  head. 

On  his  way  to  the  cabin,  which  lay  across  the 
pasture,  Hitch  Diamond  also  did  some  heavy 
thinking. 

"  I  wonder  how  much  dram  dat  nigger  woman  is 
got,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "I  bet  dar  ain't 
enough  for  two.  Ef  she  ain't  nothin'  but  one  of 
dese  here  soft,  giggly,  gal-wifes,  mebbe  I  kin  bam 
boozle  her  outen  a  dram  befo'  Dude  comes  in. " 

Dainty  met  Hitch  at  the  door. 

"My  name  am  Hitch  Diamond,  Dainty,"  he 
rumbled.  "  I  met  Dude  out  in  de  cow  pasture  an' 
he  tole  me  he  done  cormitted  mattermony.  I  felt 
powerful  bad  because  he  didn't  send  fer  his  ole 
preacher  frien'  to  come  'n'  marrify  him.  He  sont 
me  up  here  to  take  a  look  at  you." 

"Come  in,  elder,"  Dainty  giggled.  "How  is 
you  feelin'  to-day?" 

"Lawd,  honey,  I  feels  a  whole  passel  better 
since  I  sot  my  eyes  on  you.  You's  prettier'n  a 
little  pig.  But  I  been  feelin'  powerful  sick." 


292  Hoodoo  Face 

"Whut  ails  you?"  the  girl  asked  with  instant 
sympathy. 

"  I's  got  a  wo-begone  spasm  in  my  stomick  an*  a 
empty  feelin'  in  my  head." 

"  Dat's  too  bad, "  Dainty  said.  "  Would  a  little 
drap " 

"Yes'm,"  Hitch  responded  promptly.  "Dat's 
jes'  de  medicine  I  needs.  De  dorctor  obscribes 
brandy  fer  all  my  ailments." 

Dainty  extracted  a  key  from  the  pocket  of  her 
dress  and  opened  the  door  of  a  little  storeroom  which 
contained  a  little  trunk.  Drawing  forth  another 
key,  she  opened  the  trunk  and  brought  out  a  jug. 

"I's  glad  Dude  didn't  come  to  de  house  wid 
you, "  Dainty  remarked.  "I  don't  let  him  hab  no 
more  booze.  He  come  home  'bout  two  weeks 
ago  an'  couldn't  git  past  dat  oak  tree  out  dar  in  dat 
yard.  He  seed  two  trees  whar  dar  wusn't  but  jes1 
only  one,  an'  he  mighty  nigh  butted  his  fool  head 
off  tryin'  to  walk  between  dem  trees." 

She  set  the  jug  and  the  drinking  glass  beside 
Hitch  Diamond  and  took  her  seat  in  a  rickety  hide- 
bottomed  chair. 

Hitch  looked  at  the  glass,  picked  it  up  and 
fumbled  it,  and  set  it  down  apologetically. 

"Sister  Dainty,"  he  murmured,  "ef  you  ain't 
got  no  objections,  I'll  drink  outen  dis  jug  de  way 
I  wus  raised." 

Catching  the  handle  with  his  left  hand,  he  gave 
the  jug  a  quick  turn,  rested  it  upon  the  crook  of  his 
uplifted  elbow,  and  applied  his  lips  to  the  spout. 
Dainty  watched  him  with  fascinated  eyes. 


Hoodoo  Face  293 

When  at  last  he  set  the  jug  upon  the  table  and 
seated  himself  beside  it,  she  said  with  a  chuckle: 

"Elder,  when  I  wus  a  little  gal  I  wus  always 
countin' — I  used  to  count  de  cobs  in  de  feed- 
trough,  an'  de  beans  in  a  hull,  an*  de  number  of 
swallers  a  cow  tuck  when  she  drunk  water. " 

"  Jes'  so, "  Hitch  responded,  wiping  his  mouth  on 
,he  sleeve  of  his  red  undershirt. 

"  Seben  swallers  is  a  big  drink  fer  a  cow,  elder, " 
Dainty  continued. 

"Dat's  right,"  Hitch  agreed. 

"Elder,"  Dainty  chuckled,  "when  you  wus 
drinkin'  outen  my  jug,  you  swallered  fo'teen 
&nes!" 

"Yes'm, "  Hitch  replied  solemnly.  "I  tole  you 
'.  wus  feelin'  powerful  sick!" 

Suddenly  he  remembered  that  he  was  playing 
the  part  of  a  preacher.  He  decided  he  ought  to 
say  something  religous.  So  he  began : 

"Sister  Dainty,  dis  am  de  Bible  law  about  de 
mbibin'  of  awjus  liquors:  de  amount  of  booze  a 
man  ought er  drink  depen's  on  how  much  he  kin 
lold  inside  hisse'f  an'  at  de  same  time  resist  de 
effecks;  but,  neverdeless  an'  howsumever,  eve'y 
man  oughter  take  a  little  dram  fer  his  stomick's 
ache  in  case  of  powerful  sickness. " 

"Yes,  suh,"  Dainty  agreed. 

"Now  you  notify  de  case  of  yo'  husbunt  tryin' 
to  make  a  goat  of  hisse'f  an'  butt  down  all  de  tim- 

r  in  de  yard.  I  feels  like  I  oughter  tell  you  dat 
dat  nigger  is  plum'  full  of  guile.  Right  dis  minute, 
tie's  figgerin'  to  fall  in  de  bayou  an'  come  to  de 


294  Hoodoo  Face 

house  all  wet,  an'  say  de  bull  done  butted  him,  an' 
ax  fer  a  leetle  drap. " 

"Am — dat — so?"  Dainty  inquired  with  pop 
ping  eyes. 

11  Yes'm, "  Hitch  assured  her.  "Of  co'se,  a  man 
in  my  perfesh  don't  harmonize  wis  no  sech  plans 
like  dat.  Hit's  a  sin  ag'in'  de  conscience." 

Dainty  stood  up  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
handle  of  the  jug. 

"I's  gwine  put  dis  jug  back  in  de  storeroom. 
Dude  don't  git  none.  He  is  a  fraudful  nigger!" 
She  set  the  jug  on  the  top  of  the  trunk,  locked  the 
storeroom,  and  went  to  the  kitchen. 

Hitch  heard  her  chopping  kindling  wood  and 
rattling  the  stove-lids.  He  heard  the  roar  of  the 
fire  as  the  flame  from  the  rich  pine-knots  soared  up 
the  chimney. 

Ten  minutes  later  Dainty  entered  and  sat  down 
with  Hitch  again,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  wifely 
resolution. 

"  Dar  he  comes  now ! "  Hitch  snickered,  pointing 
through  the  window.  "Look  at  him — wet  as  a 
b'iled  owl  an'  walkin'  lame  in  bofe  behime  legs  like 
a  stringhalt  mule.  Lawd,  Lawd!" 

IV 

i 

A  PIPE  OF  'BACKY. 

The  gate  opened  and  Dude  Blackum  stumbled 
in,  walking  to  the  door  with  every  manifestation  of 
suffering  his  imagination  could  devise. 


Hoodoo  Face  295 

Hitch,  standing  behind  Dainty  so  she  could 
not  see,  encouraged  Dude's  painful  progress  by 
waving  the  other  silk  purple-and-yellow  sock  at 
him. 

"My  Lawd,  Dainty,"  Dude  wailed,  "whut 
you  reckin  dat  ole  bull  went  an*  done  to  me?" 

"Butted  you  in  de  bayou!"  Dainty  answered 
promptly. 

"Yes'm,  dat's  it!  I's  cripple  in  bofe  behime 
legs  fer  life!"  Dude  told  her  as  he  clasped  his  back 
with  both  hands  and  groaned.  "I  couldn't  swim 
a  lick  because  I  couldn't  kick.  Ef  I  hadn't  pad 
dled  out  wid  my  hands  I'd  'a'  been  drownded. " 

He  looked  appealingly  toward  Hitch  Diamond, 
waiting  for  the  bogus  elder  to  suggest  the  booze. 
But  Hitch  merely  wiped  his  hand  across  his  mouth 
and  grinned. 

"Dainty,  honey,"  Dude  said  pleadingly,  "I's 
powerful  hurted,  an*  I  feel  like  I's  gwine  hab  a 
rigger.  Ain't  you  got  a  leetle " 

"I  shore  has,"  Dainty  replied  eagerly,  without 
waiting  for  the  question.  "  Git  in  de  yuther  room 
an*  take  off  dem  wet  clothes,  an*  by  dat  time  I'll 
hab  you  a  good  dram  ready." 

With  a  beatific  grin  at  Hitch  Diamond,  to 
which  Hitch  responded,  Dude  retired  to  change  his 
clothes.  A  moment  later  he  came  out  and  said  to 
Hitch: 

"Gimme  dat  yuther  silk  sock!" 

"A  trade  am  a  trade,"  Hitch  grinned  as  he 
handed  it  over.  "Ain't  one  sock  wet?" 

"Naw!"   Dude  whispered.     "I  laid  it  on  de 


296  Hoodoo  Face 

groun'  till  I  jumped  in  de  bayou,  an'  I  fotch  it 
home  under  my  hat. " 

When  Dude  reappeared  he  was  clothed  in  his  best 
suit  and  wore  the  gaudiest  socks  he  had  ever  owned. 

"Set  down  by  dis  table,  Dude,"  Dainty  said. 

She  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  returned  carrying 
a  bowl,  the  rank  odor  of  its  contents  permeating 
the  room. 

"My  gawsh,  Dainty!"  Dude  howled  as  she  set 
the  bowl  of  steaming  liquid  before  him.  "Whut 
is  dis  mess — a  b'iled  rat?" 

' '  Naw, ' '  Dainty  said  in  her  sweetest  tones. 
"It's  a  bowl  of  hot  sass'fras  tea!" 

Dude  howled  his  disgust. 

"It's  mighty  good  fer  a  nigger  whut's  had  a 
accidunt,  Dude, "  Dainty  told  him  with  suspicious 
gentleness. 

Dude  glanced  at  Hitch  Diamond.  That  gentle 
man's  face  was  set  in  a  monstrous,  mouth-stretching 
grin,  and  his  eyes  danced  with  unholy  glee. 

"Huh!"  Dude  grunted.  He  sheepishly  benl 
his  head  over  the  bowl  of  sassafras  tea  and  sippec 
its  last  drop  without  saying  a  word. 

' '  Dat  fake  preacher  prize-fighter  is  done  scrat  chec 
me  out,"  he  reasoned.  "I'll  git  even,  or  die!" 

Finishing  his  tea,  Dude  rose  to  his  feet.     "I's 
gwine  out  to  feed  de  pigs  fer  de  night,  Dainty,' 
he  said.     "I'll  be  back  in  a  minute. " 

Dude  sat  down  in  the  door  of  the  corncrib  anc 
meditated  deeply  upon  a  proper  method  of  retali 
ation. 

"Dat  Hitch  Diamond  thinks  he's  purty  blam< 


Hoodoo  Face  297 

peart  in  his  head, ' '  he  announced  to  himself.  ' '  He 
thinks  dat  he's  got  so  much  sense  dat  his  eyes 
looks  red." 

He  ran  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets  and  medi 
tated  some  more.  Then  he  shook  his  head  hope 
lessly. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  in  my  head  but  squash-seed. 
When  I  tries  to  ponder,  it  gibs  me  blind-staggers  in 
my  brains.  I  hope,  some  day,  dat  nigger  will  hab 
to  swaller  a  whole  sassafras-tree!" 

He  stood  up  and  started  slowly  back  toward  the 
house.  He  looked  tired  and  worn.  He  had  most 
certainly  never  heard  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
but  he  would  have  agreed  with  that  philosopher  in 
the  statement  that  "thinking  is  the  hardest  work 
in  the  world. " 

"I  reckin  I'll  hab  to  take  dese  new  socks  fer  my 
pay  an'  call  it  even,"  he  sighed.  "Dar  ain't  no 
revengeunce  comin'  to  me.  Dainty  an'  Hitch  is 
too  much  team  to  pull  ag'in. " 

He  walked  into  the  room  where  the  two  sat, 
nursing  a  grouch  and  by  no  means  disposed  to  be 
courteous  to  his  guest.  He  took  a  corn-cob  pipe 
from  his  pocket,  scratched  in  the  bottom  of  another 
pocket  for  some  crumbs  of  smoking  tobacco,  and 
lighted  up. 

"Dude  is  got  anodder  pipe,  elder.  Would  you 
wish  to  smoke?"  Dainty  inquired. 

"Yes'm,"  Hitch  responded.  "It'll  kinder  sottle 
my  stomick  fer  my  supper  vittles." 

Dude  arose  grumpily,  walked  to  the  mantle 
shelf,  and  picked  up  a  pipe.  Out  of  one  pocket 


298  Hoodoo  Face 

he  brought  a  few  crumbs  of  smoking  tobacco,  then 
scraped  the  bottom  of  another  pocket  for  a  few 
more  crumbs.  He  emptied  some  papers  and  matches 
and  pieces  of  string  out  of  a  mug  on  the  mantle, 
and  poured  out  a  few  more  crumbs.  Then,  behind 
a  picture,  his  eyes  caught  the  gleam  of  metal,  and 
he  brought  out  something  which  looked  like  a  flask. 
He  poured  a  few  crumbs  out  of  this  into  his  hand, 
finished  filling  the  pipe  as  he  turned  his  back, 
and  reached  for  a  match.  Passing  them  to  Hitch, 
Dude  took  his  chair  on  the  far  side  of  the  room  near 
the  open  door. 

Hitch  struck  the  match  and  sucked  the  flame 
into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

Pawl 

The  pipe  burst  into  fragments,  the  room  filled 
with  smoke,  Dainty  screamed,  and  Hitch  Diamond 
performed  a  number  of  interesting  circus  stunts 
and  tumbled  over  in  a  squalling,  bellowing  heap 
upon  the  floor. 

"Git  de  booze,  Dainty!"  Dude  screamed. 
"Fotch  out  de  jug!  De  elder  is  done  cormitted 
death!" 

Dainty  sprang  to  the  storeroom  door,  opened  it, 
and  handed  Dude  the  jug. 

"Oo-oo-ee!"   Hitch  whooped.  'Ts  dyin'  dead!" 

"Go  in  de  kitchen  an'  fotch  a  drinkin'  cup!" 
Dude  howled  to  his  wife. 

Dainty  bounced  into  the  kitchen,  slamming 
the  door  behind  her.  Dude  quickly  latched  the 
door  so  that  Dainty  could  not  enter  the  room 
again  without  going  entirely  around  the  house. 


Hoodoo  Face  299 

1 '  Oo-oo-ee ! ' '  Hitch  Diamond  howled.     ' '  He'p ! ' ' 

"Shut  up,  you  ole  fool!"  Dude  commanded  as 
he  walked  over  and  bestowed  upon  the  giant  prize 
fighter  a  most  earnest  and  soul-satisfying  kick. 
"Me  an'  dis  jug  ain't  gwine  'socheate  wid  you  no 
more.  You  ain't  fatten  comp'ny!" 

"Don't  leave  me,  Dude!"  Hitch  begged.  "I's 
all  collapsed  down!" 

Dude  picked  up  his  derby  hat,  stopped  at  the 
door,  and  looked  back: 

"Sass'fras  tea  is  mighty  good  fer  a  nigger  whut's 
had  a  accidunt,  Hitch.  Dainty  makes  it  fine! 
Atter  she  fixes  you  a  bowl  I  advises  you  to  fill  anod- 
der  pipe  wid  gunpowder  outen  dat  flask  behime  dat 
picture  an'  take  anodder  smoke.  Good-bye!" 

Dainty  came  running  around  the  house  and 
entered  the  door.  She  was  mad. 

"Whut  made  you  lock  me  out,  elder?"  she 
demanded. 

"Dude  done  it,"  Hitch  mourned,  sitting  upon 
the  floor  and  feeling  much  better  after  learning  what 
had  caused  his  pipe  to  explode.  ' '  Dude  is  went ! ' ' 

"Oh,  Lawdy!"  Dainty  exclaimed.  "Go  an' 
fotch  him  back,  elder!  He'll  be  so  drunk  in  no 
time  dat  he  won't  know  whut  end  of  hisse'f  is 
straight  up!  Go!" 

Hitch  went.  His  intentions  were  good.  He 
really  desired  to  find  Dude,  because  Dude  had  the 
jug.  He  purposed  to  hunt  for  him.  But  a  man 
who  has  had  fourteen  swallows  out  of  a  jug  of  free 
whisky  twenty  minutes  before  cannot  be  expected 
to  maintain  a  given  purpose  very  long. 


300  Hoodoo  Face 

By  the  time  Hitch  had  crossed  the  pasture,  he 
needed  all  the  woods  along  the  river  for  walking 
room.  The  entire  width  of  the  levee  was  not  too 
much  to  accommodate  his  devious  journey  back 
toward  Sawtown. 

On  the  edge  of  the  town,  near  the  commissary 
store  of  the  big  sawmill,  he  found  a  most  interest 
ing  ditch.  It  was  about  ten  feet  wide  and  fifteen 
feet  deep,  and  was  hard  and  dry  at  the  bottom. 

He  leaned  over  to  examine  that  ditch  with  great 
care.     He  seemed  to  want  to  remember  it,   to 
impress  it  on  his  mind.     It  may  fairly  be  presumed 
that  he  did  impress  it  on  his  mind.     He  fell  into  it\ 
on  his  head. 

At  midnight  he  was  sleeping  in  it  undisturbed. 
A  little  after  midnight  something  happened.  A 
man  walking  down  the  deep  gulley  stepped  on 
Hitch  Diamond  and  woke  him  up. 


AMONG  THIEVES. 

Hitch  did  not  know  how  long  he  lay  in  the 
ditch  after  he  had  been  awakened.  He  tried  to 
remember  where  he  was  and  how  he  got  there,  but 
he  was  half  asleep  and  wholly  confused,  and  the 
task  was  too  great  for  him. 

What  woke  him  up  completely  was  a  long,  shrill 
whistle,  followed  by  four  pistol-shots  in  rapid 
succession. 

Hitch  sprang  to  his  feet  and  started  running 


Hoodoo  Face  301 

down  the  gulley,  but  he  stumbled  in  the  dark  and 
fell  headlong. 

Three  more  pistol-shots  cracked  in  the  still  night 
air,  a  man  screamed,  and  Hitch  sprang  up  and 
started  again.  He  stumbled  and  fell  a  second 
time. 

Over  in  the  far  end  of  the  big  lumber  yard  a 
second  whistle  shrilled,  the  call  of  a  night  watch 
man,  followed  by  the  crack!  crack!  crack!  of  an 
automatic  pistol.  Then  the  big  mill  whistle 
roared  its  warning  through  the  town  and  reverber 
ated  down  the  river  and  echoed  from  the  woods, 
and  deafened  and  terrified  Hitch  Diamond  by  its 
sinister  call  to  the  people  of  Sawtown  to  rouse 
themselves. 

From  the  great  number  of  little  houses  where  the 
employees  of  the  mill  lived  men  issued  forth, 
brandishing  firearms  and  calling  to  each  other  as 
they  ran.  The  electric  lights  in  the  mill  flashed 
up,  and  in  a  brief  time  an  immense  crowd  had 
congregated. 

Hitch  could  hear  their  excited  questions  and 
answers. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Commissary  store  has  been  robbed  and  night 
watchman  killed!" 

"Who  did  it?" 

"A  nigger!" 

"No!    Two  niggers!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  while  the  crowd 
considered  this.  Then  a  roar : 

"Find  them  niggers  and  mob  'em!     Come  on!" 


302  Hoodoo  Face 

"Spread  out,  men!  Cover  the  yard!  Look 
everywhere!" 

Hitch  Diamond  turned  his  back  on  that  crowd 
and  started  in  the  opposite  direction  at  full  speed, 
running  in  the  dark,  with  no  notion  where  he  was 
going.  He  got  an  idea  when  he  plunged  into  the 
mill-pond  up  to  his  neck. 

"Dis  here  is  sloppy  wuck!"  he  grunted  as  he 
climbed  out  of  there. 

He  began  to  skirt  the  edge  of  the  pond,  and 
found  to  his  alarm  that  he  was  following  the  curve 
which  led  him  back  to  the  lighted  mill.  He  heard 
the  sound  of  running  feet ;  a  flash-light  shot  its  rays 
across  the  mill-pond,  and  Hitch  departed  from 
the  water's  edge  with  all  possible  speed. 

He  found  one  of  the  long  alleys  between  the 
lumber  piles  in  the  yard  and  sprinted  down  the 
sawdust  trail  at  a  lively  gait. 

Glancing  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  found  the 
entrance  of  the  alley  filled  with  men  who  were 
coming  toward  him  with  incredible  swiftness. 
The  employees  of  the  mill  were  familiar  with  all 
the  main  thoroughfares  and  by-paths  of  the  yard, 
while  Hitch  had  to  feel  his  way  to  some  extent,  and 
his  progress  was  necessarily  slow. 

A  revolver  spat  fire  and  lead  at  him,  a  fusillade 
followed,  a  big  lumber-stack  rose  like  a  mountain 
before  the  frightened  negro,  and  he  fell  against  it 
with  both  hands  outspread. 

He  found  something  that  he  had  never  noticed 
in  a  lumber  yard  before — that  strips  of  wood  were 
thrust  between  the  layers  of  lumber  to  give  a 


Hoodoo  Face  3°3 

circulation  of  air  and  prevent  the  lumber  from 
rotting. 

These  little  gaps  made  it  possible  for  him  to 
climb,  and  he  scrambled  up  the  pile  like  a  big 
baboon  and  lay  on  the  top,  panting  like  the  exhaust 
of  an  engine. 

His  pursuers  passed  the  pile  on  the  path  below, 
and  Hitch  began  to  breathe  easier. 

In  a  moment  a  light  flashed  from  a  big  lumber- 
pile  fifty  feet  away  and  several  feet  higher  than 
the  pile  he  was  on.  A  watchman  was  whipping 
about  him  with  a  dark  lantern,  searching  the  top 
of  the  lumber. 

Hitch  Diamond  dropped  over  the  side  and  hit 
the  sawdust  trail  again.  He  ran  down  a  little  by 
path,  skinning  his  elbows  upon  the  projecting 
planks  and  stubbing  his  bare  toes  against  all  kinds 
of  obstacles,  until  he  fell  over  something  and 
tumbled  onto  something  with  a  clatter  like  the  roll 
of  a  snare-drum. 

A  man  loomed  up  before  him  not  twenty  feet 
away  and  said  "Ho!"  in  a  frightened  voice. 

Hitch  got  up  and  went  away  from  that  place 
with  astonishing  speed. 

Then  the  watchman  on  the  lumber-pile  threw 
the  rays  of  his  dark  lantern  down  into  the  runway 
just  as  Hitch  passed,  and  the  terrified  negro  ran 
full  into  the  glare. 

Three  pistol-shots  splintered  the  wood  around 
him  as  he  ran  on;  the  watchman's  sharp  voice 
called  to  the  man-hunters,  and  in  a  second,  hun 
dreds  of  men  had  turned  and  were  converging 


304  Hoodoo  Face 

toward  the  spot  where  Hitch  Diamond  was  running 
around  a  lumber-pile  like  a  trapped  rabbit. 

"Guard  the  runways,  men!"  the  watchman's 
voice  ordered  sharply.  "I'll  flash  the  light  into 
the  alleys  for  you!" 

The  watchman  began  to  leap  from  pile  to  pile, 
throwing  the  rays  of  his  dark  lantern  down  into 
each  corridor,  and  coming  constantly  closer  to 
where  Hitch  Diamond  was  hiding. 

"My  Gawd!"  Hitch  chattered  as  he  looked  up 
at  the  fantastic,  mountainous  pile  beside  which 
he  was  crouched. 

Salvation  came  with  the  thought  that  the  pile 
he  stood  beside  was  higher  than  the  one  on  which 
the  watchman  stood.  He  began  to  climb,  hand 
over  hand,  praying  that  the  light  would  not  reach 
him  before  he  could  attain  the  summit. 

By  the  mercy  of  Heaven  he  rolled  onto  the  top 
of  the  lumber  just  as  the  watchman,  on  a  pile 
twenty  feet  below  him,  flashed  the  glare  into  the 
corridor  where  Hitch  had  stood  a  moment  before. 

Hitch  was  blowing  like  a  bellows,  streams  of 
perspiration  poured  down  his  body,  and  his  giant 
frame  shook  like  the  body  of  a  man  with  an  ague. 

Days  of  dissipation  in  New  Orleans,  a  drunken 
spree  just  a  few  hours  before,  nothing  to  eat  since 
breakfast,  half  an  hour  of  violent  exercise  running 
and  climbing  lumber,  and  a  fright  which  clutched 
at  his  heart,  weakening  and  almost  suffocating  him 
— all  of  these  things  were  handicaps  for  Hitch  Dia 
mond  in  the  effort  he  was  making  to  escape. 

He  knew  that   capture  meant   certain  death. 


Hoodoo  Face  305 

Capture  was  not  even  necessary — a  flash  of  light,  a 
well-directed  pistol-shot,  and  his  career  was  ended. 

Suddenly  his  soul  was  filled  with  terror. 

Twenty  men  had  mounted  the  lumber-piles  and 
were  moving  across  the  tops,  lashing  the  lumber 
with  their  lights,  driving  everything  before  them 
as  a  woman  shoos  a  lot  of  chickens.  Below  him, 
on  the  ground,  men  were  standing  at  the  end  of 
each  main  thoroughfare,  and  were  lashing  them 
with  light,  while  one  man  was  walking  down 
each  by-path ! 

The  searching  party  had  organized,  and  was 
moving  with  perfect  precision  to  cover  the  entire 
yard. 

"Good-by,  fair  worl' !"  Hitch  Diamond  mourned 
as  he  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  lumber  and  looked 
down.  "'Tain't  no  hope  fer  pore  old  Hitchie 
onless  I  kin  hop  offen  dis  lumber  atter  dat  man 
is  done  passed  down  in  de  alley. " 

But  the  men  on  the  ground  had  foreseen  that 
possibility,  and  were  measuring  their  progress 
down  the  by-paths  by  the  progress  of  the  men 
on  the  lumber-piles. 

Seeing  this,  Hitch  Diamond's  heart  turned  to 
lead,  his  blood  to  water,  and  his  giant  frame 
seemed  to  crumble  like  chalk.  Already  he  felt 
himself  mortally  stricken  and  dying. 

He  caught  himself  trying  to  speak,  to  utter 
words  of  encouragement  to  himself,  but  his  teeth 
clicked  together  like  castanets,  and  his  whispered 
words  fell  upon  terror-deafened  ears. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  glaring  at  the 

29 


3°6  Hoodoo  Face 

approaching  lights  like  some  great  beast  trapped 
in  a  jungle.  Unconsciously  he  shut  his  fingers 
tight,  his  hands  forming  two  immense  iron  fists. 

That  unconscious  action  made  a  man  of  him 
again!  Those  iron  fists  were  the  fists  of  a  prize 
fighter—Hitch  Diamond,  the  Tickf  all  Tiger !  Cour 
age  flowed  through  his  veins  like  some  magic 
liquor. 

"Hitch  never  th'ows  up  de  sponge!'*  he  growled. 
"Ifightstodeeend!" 

VI 

THE  TICKFALL   TIGER   STRIKES. 

Hitch  sat  down  upon  the  lumber-pile  and 
slipped  quietly  over  the  edge,  preparing  to  descend. 

He  hung  the  seat  of  his  trousers  upon  a  splinter 
and  lunged  forward  in  a  sudden  panic,  tearing 
the  garment  almost  off  his  body. 

As  he  climbed  quietly  down  the  side  of  the  pile, 
he  hung  the  leg  of  his  trousers  upon  a  projecting 
stick  and  ripped  the  leg  almost  up  to  the  waist 
band.  Dropping  down  upon  the  sawdust  path,  he 
took  a  step  or  two  and  found  that  his  torn  panta 
loons  hindered  his  progress,  and  might  afford  his 
pursuers  a  hand-hold  for  his  capture. 

Sorrowfully  he  took  the  garment  off  and  stood 
in  his  giant  strength,  panoplied  in  his  red  under 
clothes  ! 

"There  he  goes ! "  a  voice  called  in  the  dark. 

Clenching  his  iron  fists,  Hitch  started  at  full 


Hoodoo  Face  307 

speed.  Ten  men  blocked  the  entrance  before 
him.  He  went  through  them  like  an  express- train, 
rolling  some  of  them  heels  over  head. 

A  man  ran  out  of  a  by-path,  and  his  head  collided 
with  Hitch's  fist  like  a  punching-bag.  As  the 
negro  ran  another,  another,  and  another  came 
out  of  the  little  pathways,  and  each  one  went  down 
like  a  bag  of  salt.  Thus  Hitch  arrived  at  the 
main  passageway. 

Then  he  found  every  by-path  pouring  forth  its 
quota  of  men,  every  thoroughfare  contributed 
its  number,  and  every  man  upon  the  lumber-piles 
ran  toward  one  spot  to  illumine  the  passage  with 
their  dark  lanterns. 

"Lawdymussy!"  Hitch  sighed.  "Ef  I  don't 
mix  wid  'em,  dey'll  shoot  me!" 

To  the  end  of  their  lives,  those  powerful,  husky 
sawmill  men  told  with  awe-stricken  voices  of  the 
fight  of  that  giant  black  in  the  lumber  yard.  Hitch 
mixed  with  them.  No  man  dared  to  use  his  pistol 
for  fear  of  killing  a  friend.  It  was  a  hand-to-hand 
battle,  one  negro  against  forty  mill-hands. 

With  a  wild,  insane  bellow  Hitch  hurled  himself 
upon  that  mob  of  cursing,  shrieking,  clambering, 
clutching  men,  and  they  set  upon  him  like  raven 
ing  wolves. 

The  confusion  was  terrible,  the  noise  was  deafen 
ing,  the  shout  and  the  tumult  of  the  battle  echoing 
back  from  the  mountains  of  lumber.  Hitch  alone 
seemed  to  have  a  clear  idea  of  his  battle — he  knew 
that  every  man  was  against  him.  The  others 
hindered  each  other,  but  Hitch  knew  that  he  was 


308  Hoodoo  Face 

free  to  knock  any  nose  and  pound  any  head  and 
butt  any  stomach. 

The  proximity  of  the  lumber  on  each  side  of  the 
thoroughfare  was  an  aid  to  Hitch.  When  he 
hurled  his  mighty  body  into  a  crowd  of  his  oppo 
nents,  and  they  reeled  back  from  the  impact  and 
struck  the  backs  of  their  heads  against  the  wood, 
it  took  them  a  few  minutes  to  recover  from  the 
shock,  while  Hitch  gave  his  attention  to  others. 

His  giant  fists  pounded  heads  as  though  they 
were  egg-shells;  his  ponderous  bare  feet  landed 
with  mighty  kicks  in  the  stomachs  and  the  backs 
of  men;  his  long,  iron  arms  whirled  like  the  wings 
of  a  windmill,  mowing  them  down,  every  man  who 
was  touched  falling  unconscious  or  helpless. 

Four  men  clung  to  him  like  cockleburs  to  a 
sheep's  wool,  trying  to  drag  him  down  by  their 
weight.  Hitch  scooped  them  up  in  his  mighty 
arms  and  fell  with  their  combined  weight  against  a 
pile  of  lumber,  crushing  them  and  breaking  their 
holds. 

An  excited  watchman  on  a  lumber-pile  above 
him  sought  to  contribute  a  share  to  the  battle 
by  dropping  upon  Hitch's  head  a  girder  or  joist 
such  as  is  used  in  constructing  the  framework  of 
houses.  The  piece  of  timber  fell  ten  feet  from 
Hitch's  struggling  body,  and  he  set  his  hand  upon 
it  with  a  bellow  of  joy. 

In  that  moment  Hitch  became  another  Goliath, 
the  staff  of  whose  spear  was  like  a  weaver's  beam, 
and  whose  spear's  head  weighed  six  hundred 
shekels  of  iron.  ? 


Hoodoo  Face  309 

When  Hitch  began  to  lay  about  him  with  that 
joist  the  battle  was  won.  The  foolish  watchman 
who  had  contributed  such  a  mighty  weapon  to  the 
enemy  was  so  astonished  that  he  fell,  clattering,  off 
the  lumber-pile  and  broke  his  arm. 

The  men  charged  him  once  more,  but  Hitch 
waved  his  big  piece  of  timber  from  side  to  side, 
mowing  them  down.  A  pistol-shot  from  the  top  of 
the  lumber  warned  Hitch  that  it  was  time  to  leave. 

A  loud,  disappointed  wail  sounded  from  the  top 
of  the  lumber,  where  the  men  were  operating  the 
dark  lanterns,  and  instantly  began  the  crack, 
crack,  crack  of  the  pistols,  shooting  at  Hitch  as 
he  ran  down  the  corridor. 

Men  still  arriving,  coming  in  from  other  by 
paths  and  avenues  between  the  lumber,  scrambled 
out  of  Hitch's  way,  fearful  of  being  shot  from 
above. 

Hitch  found  a  clear  path  and  took  it.  In  a  little 
while  he  was  out  of  range  of  the  bullets  and  out  of 
the  glare  of  the  lights.  He  scrambled  over  a  low 
fence,  and  found  himself  in  a  side  street  outside  of 
the  lumber  yard. 

"Hey,  men!"  a  triumphant  voice  shrieked. 
"Here  he  is!  We've  got  him!  Come  on!  We've 
caught  him!" 

Shriek  after  shriek  arose  from  the  middle  of 
the  lumber  yard,  accompanied  by  the  triumphant 
voices  repeating: 

"We've  got  him!" 

"Dey  ain't  got  me!"  Hitch  grinned  as  he 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  flashing  lights 


rfoodoo  Face 

which  were  converging  at  another  point  on  top  of 
the  lumber.  "I's  gwine  drap  down  an'  rest  a 
minute;  den  I's  gwine  take  dis  red  suit  of  under 
clothes  to  Tickfall,  an'  git  some  pants  an'  a  coat 
to  put  on  over  it." 

He  dropped  down  in  a  thicket  of  plum-trees, 
completely  exhausted.  While  he  rested  he  lis 
tened. 

"Kill  him!" 

"Befo'  Gawd,  white  folks,  I  ain't  done  nothin', 
nothin'!" 

"Knock  him  over  the  head  with  that  jug  and 
make  him  shut  up!" 

A  loud  scream  and  silence! 

"I  wonder  whut  road  goes  back  to  Tickfall?1 
Hitch  whispered  with  fear-stiffened  lips.     "One 
dead  nigger  is  more'n  a  plenty!" 

Skirting  the  edge  of  the  town  to  be  out  of  the 
electric  lights,  Hitch  Diamond  sought  the  way 
to  the  river.  With  him  every  place  was  either  up 
or  down  that  great  stream,  and  he  remembered 
that  Tickfall  was  up  the  river. 

When  he  found  the  levee  and  stood  looking  out 
upon  the  dark  water  so  great  was  his  confusion 
that  he  was  unable  to  tell  which  way  the  stream 
was  flowing. 

He  heard  behind  him  the  shouts  of  the  approach 
ing  mob,  punctuated  now  and  then  by  the  terrible 
screams  of  a  man  being  led  out  of  the  woods  to 
suffer  death.  He  shuddered  and  wondered  that 
any  man  could  make  as  much  noise  with  his  throat 
ac  did  this  terrified  negro  in  the  hands  of  the  mob. 


Hoodoo  Face  311 

A  moment  later  there  was  no  question  in  Hitch's 
mind  which  way  the  Mississippi  River  was  flowing, 
for  Hitch  was  swimming  noiselessly  across  the 
current  toward  the  opposite  shore.  But  the 
Father  of  Waters  is  no  quiet  mill-pond.  The 
pressure  of  its  mighty  current -is  the  push  of  every 
drop  of  water  falling  between  the  Rockies  and  the 
Alleghanies  and  the  inflow  of  the  rivers  between. 
That  current  carried  Hitch  down  the  stream,  in 
spite  of  his  most  powerful  efforts  to  resist  it. 

Several  men  ran  out  on  the  levee  and  threw  their 
lantern  rays  across  the  water. 

Hitch  promptly  turned  on  his  back  and  floated, 
riding  the  current  as  motionless  as  a  log.  When 
the  light  left  the  water,  Hitch  struggled  on,  fighting 
the  dark,  muddy  stream. 

Suddenly  the  water  swept  him  against  one  of 
the  immense  cypress  braces  of  the  revetment  levee. 
He  seized  it,  almost  dead  with  weariness.  He 
realized  that  he  was  not  twenty  feet  from  the  shore 
he  had  left,  and  but  a  short  distance  from  the  mob. 
But  this  revetment  offered  a  hiding  place,  and  he 
grasped  it  eagerly. 

The  voices  of  the  mob  came  to  him  distinctly 
across  the  water. 

'  *  Bef o'  Gawd,  white  folks,  you-alls  ain't  got  me 
right!"  the  hopeless  captive  wailed.  "I  ain't 
done  nothin'  a-tall!  All  you  white  mens  knows 
Dude  Blackum — dat's  me !  I  lives  in  de  cabin  jest 
up  ferninst  de  mill-pond,  an'  wucks  on  a  farm  fer 
my  livin'!" 

''Shut  up!" 


312  Hoodoo  Face 

The  crowd  which  had  fought  and  been  defeated 
by  Hitch  Diamond  was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  the 
explanations  of  another  negro.  A  long,  wailing 
cry  was  Dude  Blackum's  answer,  and  the  mob 
moved  on. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  whoop,  a  clatter  of  pistol 
shots,  a  howling  mob  swarming  over  the  levee,  a 
splash  of  water,  and  a  number  of  voices: 

1 '  Catch  him !     Head  him  off  there !     Kill  him ! " 

A  number  of  flash-lights  whipped  the  water,  and 
one  big  lantern  shot  a  broad,  blinding,  dangerous 
streak.  That  flare  of  light  caught  the  round,  black 
head,  swimming,  struggling  in  the  current,  and 
held  it. 

"Now,  men!"  a  voice  called.  "There's  your 
mark — shoot  straight!" 

There  was  a  fusillade — Hitch  Diamond  noted 
with  elation  that  the  black,  woolly  head  bobbed 
on. 

" Per  Gawd's  sake ! "  Hitch  murmured.  "Why 
don't  dat  coon  dive  an'  float?" 

Suddenly  an  authoritative  voice  cried : 

"Stop  shooting,  men!  Get  in  your  skiffs  and 
row  out  there  and  catch  that  negro !  It'll  take  him 
half  an  hour  to  swim  the  river!" 

"  My  Lawd ! "  Hitch  Diamond  moaned.  "  Little 
Hitchie  is  shore  up  ag'in  it  now!" 

"Hurry,  men!"  the  same  authoritative  voice 
called. 

There  was  the  sound  of  running  feet  along  the 
levee,  then  a  moment  of  breathless  silence  while 
the  flash-lights  lashed  the  water. 


Hoodoo  Face  313 

Then  far  out  into  the  stream  there  was  a  loud 
scream,  a  loud  splash,  and  silence ! 

"Dar  now!"  Hitch  mourned.  "De  water 
cramps  got  him !  He's  dead ! ' ' 

The  lights  of  the  lanterns  searched  everywhere. 
No  black  object  floated,  nothing  at  all  was  seen. 

The  same  clear,  authoritative  voice  spoke  again, 
and  a  tone  of  sadness  softened  it : 

"I  guess  that's  all,  men!  We  may  as  well  go 
home  now!" 

"I's  gwine  home,  too!"  Hitch  Diamond  whim 
pered  piteously. 

VII 

GOING  HOME. 

He  climbed  down  the  levee,  after  battling  his 
way  across  the  river,  found  a  public  highway  on 
the  other  side,  and  stepped  into  the  middle  of 
the  road.  Looking  about  him  cautiously,  he 
inflated  his  lungs  with  air.  After  that  he  dropped 
his  hands  to  his  sides  and  began  a  steady  and  per 
sistent  trot,  his  feet  striking  the  sand  with  the 
monotonous  regularity  of  a  ticking  clock,  each 
stride  carrying  him  away  from  the  scene  of  his 
adventure. 

Hour  after  hour,  as  persistent  as  a  desert  camel, 
Hitch  moved  ahead,  his  breath  like  a  husky  bel 
lows,  his  body  pain-shot  from  his  many  wounds. 

By  early  dawn  he  was  miles  away,  tortured  by 
hunger  and  compelled  to  face  the  fact  that  he 


314  Hoodoo  Face 

could  not  go  to  a  house  and  beg  for  food,  nor  could 
he  forage  in  the  daylight  for  lack  of  clothes. 

"  Lawd, "  Hitch  mourned.  "Ef  I  ever  git  back 
to  Tickfall,  Ts  gwine  git  on  de  water-wagon,  an' 
cut  out  de  booze.  I'll  cut  out  prize-fightin', 
cussin',  an'  trabelin'  aroun'.  I'll  git  me  a  good, 
easy  job  'thout  much  work  to  do,  an'  rest  my  bones 
till  I  die!" 

As  the  first  faint  streaks  which  marked  the 
rising  of  the  sun  shot  across  the  sky,  Hitch  left 
the  road  and  walked  toward  the  river. 

He  entered  some  deep  woods  and  crawled  into 
a  thicket  of  small  trees  which  were  heavily  draped 
with  muscadine  vines.  Dragging  these  vines 
down  and  packing  them  around  him  so  that  they 
made  a  complete  covering,  he  lay  flat  on  the 
ground  and  slept  like  a  dead  man  until  darkness 
came  again. 

When  Hitch  awoke  he  could  see  the  dim  out 
lines  of  the  river  levee,  and  he  started  toward  it, 
every  muscle  stiff  and  aching  and  crying  for  more 
rest. 

"I's  gwine  git  over  on  my  own  side  of  dis  river 
befo'  I  fergits  whut  side  I  b'longs  on,"  he  so 
liloquized.  "Bad  luck  is  hittin'  me  too  fast  fer 
me  to  take  any  chances!" 

Weak  from  hunger  and  weariness,  with  his 
strength  bound  by  his  stiff  and  aching  muscles, 
the  current  carried  Hitch  almost  a  mile  down  the 
stream  before  he  could  battle  his  way  across. 

When  he  landed  he  lay  for  an  hour  upon  the 
shore,  hardly  able  to  move.  At  last  he  started, 


Hoodoo  Face  315 

going  away  from  the  river  until  he  found  the  public 
road,  then  turned  to  the  right  and  started  forward 
on  a  steady  trot. 

Daylight  found  him  twenty-seven  miles  nearer 
Tickfall,  and  the  third  day  had  begun  for  him 
without  food.  Hunger  gnawed  at  his  stomach 
with  the  teeth  of  death. 

As  he  approached  the  woods  where  he  expected 
to  hide  for  the  day,  he  noticed  a  thin  column  of 
smoke  rising  above  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

"Ef  I  kin  find  dat  fire  in  de  woods,  an'  some 
nigger  is  watchin'  it,  I  won't  hab  no  trouble," 
Hitch  muttered.  "Dey'll  onderstan'  dat  I's  done 
had  troubles  an'  dey'll  git  me  some  pants  an'  some- 
pin  to  eat." 

He  crept  into  the  timber  and  began  to  walk 
slowly  and  cautiously  toward  the  place  where  he 
thought  he  had  located  the  smoke. 

It  was  much  farther  than  he  had  estimated,  and 
he  crawled  and  crept  for  a  long  time  before  he 
reached  it. 

Some  one  had  cooked  food  there,  for  an  old 
tin  can  was  still  redolent  of  boiled  coffee;  there 
were  the  feathers  of  a  chicken,  and  the  scales  of  a 
fish,  and  the  crumbs  of  bread. 

Moaning  to  himself  like  a  wounded  animal, 
Hitch  dropped  upon  all  fours  and  picked  up  every 
crumb  of  bread,  and  sucked  the  remaining  susten 
ance  from  every  chicken  and  fish  bone  which  had 
been  cast  aside,  and  drained  every  drop  of  coffee 
from  the  empty  can. 

Then  he  heard  a  noise  behind  him  and  turned 


316  Hoodoo  Face 

to  gaze  into  the  scarred,  black,  masklike  face  of 
Dinner  Gaze. 

Hitch  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  see  some  negro 
from  Sawtown  hiding  in  the  woods.  In  fact,  he 
knew  if  the  negro  who  built  the  fire  was  a  traveler 
he  had  very  likely  come  from  that  mill  town. 

The  proverb  that  the  wicked  flee  when  no  man 
pursue th  does  not  apply  to  the  negro  in  the  South. 
However  innocent  he  may  be  of  crime,  he  desires 
to  depart  from  a  place  where  there  has  been  trouble 
between  the  negroes  and  the  whites.  If  he  is  a 
transient  like  Hitch  Diamond,  or  his  occupation 
is  rather  questionable,  like  the  gambling-house  of 
Dinner  Gaze,  he  is  sure  to  leave  at  the  earliest 
opportunity  and  go  where  he  has  friends  or  where 
the  white  people  who  know  him  will  defend  him 
from  harm. 

"Hello,  Dinner!"  Hitch  exclaimed. 

Dinner's  black,  beadlike  eyes  glowed  unwink- 
ingly. 

"I  thought  they  kilt  you  in  de  river,  Revun," 
he  muttered  in  his  soft,  easy  voice. 

"Naw,  suh,  dey  wusn't  atter  me/'  Hitch  said 
with  difficulty,  feeling  a  great  weakness  and 
nausea  come  over  him.  "Dey  kotch  Dude 
Blackum  an*  Dude  escaped  away.  He  sunk  while 
he  was  swimmin'  in  de  river." 

"Did  de  mob  tear  all  yo'  clothes  off?"  Dinner 
Gaze  asked. 

"Naw,  suh;  I  had  bad  luck  an'  loss  all  my  clothes 
befo'  dat  happened.  Dat's  how  come  I  got  to 
trabbel  at  night." 


Hoodoo  Face 

"Is  you  hongry?"  Gaze  asked. 

"  Ain't  had  nothin'  fer  two  days,  an'  dis  is  de 
beginnin'  of  de  nex'  day,"  Hitch  told  him. 

Dinner  Gaze  picked  up  a  small  handsatchel 
which  he  had  set  down  at  his  feet  and  prepared  to 
leave. 

"I's  sorry  you  didn't  git  here  in  time  fer  break 
fast,  Revun, "  he  said.  "Ef  you'll  stay  right  here 
I'll  go  git  you  some  ole  clothes  an'  a  little  vittles. 
I  kin  beg  'em  from  some  white  folks's  house. " 

"I's  mighty  nigh  dead  wid  bein'  so  hongry, 
Dinner,"  Hitch  pleaded.  "Ef  you'll  he'p  me 
outen  dis  scrape  I'll  shore  love  you  ferever. " 

"Don't  be  oneasy, "  Dinner  grinned.  "I'll 
he'p  you  as  much  as  I  kin." 

Dinner  may  have  intended  to  aid  Hitch,  but  that 
portion  of  Tickfall  Parish  was  scantily  inhabited. 
He  walked  several  miles  before  he  came  to  a 
human  habitation,  and  there  he  was  refused  both 
food  and  clothes. 

Furthermore,  Hitch  had  said  enough  to  cause 
any  man  to  suspect  that  he  was  implicated  in  the 
Sawtown  murder,  and  negroes  are  afraid  to  render 
aid  and  comfort  to  criminals,  even  of  their  own 
race. 

Hitch  waited  for  several  hours,  and  finally  fell 
asleep,  dreaming  of  all  the  things  he  had  ever  seen 
or  heard  of  that  were  good  to  eat.  He  awoke 
at  nightfall,  famished.  Dinner  Gaze  had  not  re 
turned. 

"Dat  nigger  lied  to  me!"  Hitch  exclaimed 
desperately.  "Ef  I  had  him  here  I'd  kill  him 


318  Hoodoo  Face 

wid  my  bare  hands.  Ef  I  ever  git  de  chance  to 
even  up,  I'll  do  it  ef  I  die! " 

Cursing  his  misfortunes,  he  arose  and  stumbled 
weakly  forward. 

Two  days  later  Hitch  Diamond  stumbled  up  the 
steps  of  the  little  cabin  at  the  Gaitskill  hog-camp, 
seven  miles  from  Tickfall.  He  fell  unconscious 
at  the  feet  of  old  Isaiah  Gaitskill,  the  negro  over 
seer. 

"My  Lawd!"  Isaiah  exclaimed,  clawing  at  his 
white  wool.  "Wharever  Hitch  has  been  at,  he 
corned  away  so  fast  dat  he  runned  out  of  all  his 
clothes!" 

VIII 

THE  HOODOO   GIRL. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  in  Tickfall.  A  crowd 
of  men  were  standing  in  front  of  the  Shoofly 
Church,  idly  waiting  and  chewing  tobacco.  A 
row  of  men  sat  like  buzzards  upon  the  top  of 
the  rickety  fence,  also  chewing  tobacco.  Half  a 
dozen  saddle-horses  stood  hitched  to  the  trees 
and  two-score  dilapidated  buggies  stood  in  a  row 
with  their  horses  hitched  to  the  fence. 

Now  and  then  some  young  negro  girl  wandered 
aimlessly  toward  one  of  these  buggies,  then  hast 
ened  her  footsteps  as  if  she  had  just  remembered 
leaving  something  under  the  seat. 

Some  young  negro  man  quickly  ceased  his  low- 
toned  conversation  and  watched  her  out  of  the 


Hoodoo  Face  319 

corner  of  his  eye.  Presently  the  girl  climbed  into 
the  buggy  and  sat  down.  Promptly  the  young 
man  left  his  companions  and  went  and  sat  beside 
her.  That  was  the  end  of  their  interest  in  the 
services  to  be  conducted  in  the  church  that 
morning. 

The  young  man  had  found  the  saint  of  his 
deepest  devotion. 

The  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts  came  stalking  across  the 
churchyard  like  a  turkey  walking  through  mud 
and  dressed  in  all  his  Sunday  finery.  None  of  the 
men  seemed  to  be  aware  of  his  presence.  Vinegar 
reflected  on  the  strangeness  of  this,  and  began 
to  ponder  uneasily  on  his  chance  of  retaining  his 
job  as  the  preacher  at  the  Shoofly  Church. 

He  bowed  and  spoke  to  all  the  men,  and  hardly 
one  of  them  gave  him  a  nod  of  recognition  in  return. 

Vinegar  determined  to  find  out  the  cause  of  this 
indifference,  and  he  chose  for  his  informant  a  man 
named  Pap  Curtain — a  tall,  slim  negro  with  a 
yellow  monkey  face  and  an  habitual  sneer  upon  his 
lips. 

"Whut  ails  you  niggers  to-day  ?"  Vinegar 
demanded  in  a  trembling  voice.  "How  come  dis 
here  awful  silence  aroun'  dis  church?" 

"Hoodoo  gal!"  Pap  Curtain  answered  laconi 
cally,  pointing  across  the  churchyard. 

"Huh!"  Vinegar  grunted  with  popping  eyes. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  yard  old  Ginny  Babe 
Chew,  a  woman  of  immense  size,  was  walking 
beside  a  slim  young  negress  dressed  in  white  and 
very  handsome. 


320  Hoodoo  Face 

"Huh,"  Vinegar  grunted  again,  unable  to 
comprehend. 

"How  much  will  you  gib  me  fer  a  piece  of  real 
news,  Revun?"  Pap  inquired. 

"Ef  you  got  any  tales  to  tell,  bawl  out!"  Vine 
gar  snapped,  for  the  men's  actions  were  getting 
on  his  nerves. 

"You  remember  hearin'  'bout  dat  Dude  Black- 
urn  whut  got  into  trouble  wid  de  white  folks  at 
Sawtown  las'  Monday  night? "  Pap  asked.  "Well, 
suh,  dat  little  gal  wid  Ginny  Babe  Chew  is  Dainty 
Blackum,  Dude's  cote-house  wife!" 

"My  Lawd!"  Vinegar  growled  as  he  sat  down 
upon  the  ground  under  a  tree  like  a  man  suddenly 
overcome  by  weakness.  He  pulled  out  his  corn 
cob  pipe  and  gave  himself  up  to  troubled  medi 
tation  as  he  filled  and  lighted  it.  After  a  few 
moments  he  said : 

"Pap,  de  niggers  never  will  git  over  deir  skeer 
'bout  dat  little  entertainment  wid  Dude  Blackum. 
I  don't  b'lieve  he  done  whut  de  white  folks  said  he 
done." 

"Hush!"  Pap  cautioned.  Then  he  asked: 
"Whut  diffunce  do  dat  make  now?  He's  done 
dead!" 

There  was  a  long  silence  while  the  two  men 
watched  the  handsome,  graceful  girl  walking  be 
side  the  elephantine  form  of  Ginny  Babe  Chew. 
Finally  Pap  Curtain  said  aloud  as  if  to  himself: 

"She's  tall  an'  wavy  like  a  stalk  of  sugar-cane, 
an1  sweet  plum  down  to  de  groun'." 

"She  ain't  mournin'  so  powerful  deep  fer  dat 


Hoodoo  Face  321 

Dude  Blackum, "  Vinegar  remarked.  "She's  dolled 
up  in  a  white  dress!" 

"Dat  Dude  Blackum  shore  did  lose  somepin 
beside  his  life  when  he  parted  wid  dat  female 
woman,"  Pap  said.  "Ef  I  could  hab  a  gal  like 
dat  keepin'  house  fer  me,  I'd  shore  cut  out  all 
meanness  ferever." 

Vinegar  Atts  shuddered  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  ain't  waste  no  time  talkin'  'bout  dead  nig 
gers,  "  he  said  uneasily.  "  I  done  seed  de  ghost  of 
dat  Dude  Blackum  'bout  fo'teen  times." 

''You  ain't  by  yo'se'f  in  dat,  Revun,"  Pap 
sighed.  "Eve'y  time  I  thinks  of  dat  nigger  I  gits 
de  jiggety-jams. " 

"I  knowed  Dude  Blackum  a  little  bit — I  seed 
him  on  de  train  once,"  Vinegar  said.  "But 
'pears  like  his  ha'nt  ain't  gwine  let  me  alone 
a-tall!" 

Dainty  and  Ginny  Babe  walked  up  the  steps 
and  entered  the  Shoofly  Church,  followed  by  the 
curious  eyes  of  all  the  men  in  the  yard. 

"Dar  now!"  Vinegar  mourned.  "Tain't  no 
use  to  try  to  hab  preachin'  dis  mawnin' — dat  hoo 
doo  gal  is  done  got  dis  meetin' -house  in  a  mess.  I 
feels  like  somebody  is  done  criss-crossed  my  head 
wid  a  rabbit-foot." 

He  knocked  the  tobacco  from  his  pipe  and 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  his  eyes  set  upon  the  door 
through  which  the  girl  had  passed. 

"When  did  Dainty  Blackum  come  to  Tickfall?" 
Vinegar  asked. 

"Yistiddy.     Ginny  Babe  Chew  met  her  at  de 

21 


322  Hoodoo  Face 

deppo.  Some  yuther  niggers  come  up  from  Saw- 
town,  too.  You  know  how  niggers  is — dar's  a 
scatteration  when  somepin  like  dat  happens." 

"Yes,  suh.  De  guilty  niggers  scatterates  as 
fur  as  dey  kin  git  an'  as  quick  as  dey  kin  go," 
Vinegar  agreed.  "  De  not  guilty  niggers  hikes  out 
of  de  place  to  de  near-by  towns  an'  waits  till  de 
clouds  rolls  by." 

"I's  jes*  whisperin'  to  you  'bout  dat  Dainty 
Blackum,  Vinegar, "  Pap  said  suddenly.  '  I  ain't 
gwine  'round  braggin'  no  brags  'bout  knowin'  dis 
Blacking  gal.  White  folks  gits  awful  rambunc 
tious  when  a  nigger  kills  a  white  man  like  Dude 
done." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  nothin',"  Vinegar  murmured. 
"I  done  j'ined  de  lodge  of  silunce. " 

The  two  men  separated,  Vinegar  enterin'  the 
large,  cool,  dilapidated  church.  The  band  of  men 
standing  in  the  yard  followed,  as  a  drove  of  mules 
follow  a  gray  mare  upon  the  dusty  highroad.  The 
buzzard-like  men  climbed  from  their  perches  on 
the  fence,  dusted  the  seats  of  their  trousers  by 
quick,  sliding  motions  of  each  hand,  and  entered 
the  building.  In  the  intense  silence  their  heavily 
shod  feet  made  ugly  noises  upon  the  uncarpeted 
floor. 

Vinegar  sensed  tragedy  everywhere.  He  looked 
around  him  uneasily,  spotting  certain  unfamiliar 
faces  in  the  congregation. 

Ginny  Babe  Chew  sat  on  the  front  seat  with 
Dainty  Blackum,  the 'two  occupying  the  middle 
row  of  pews.  On  Vinegar's  right,  on  the  front 


Hoodoo  Face  323 

seat,  sat  a  man  who  had  a  knife-scar  in  his  neck,  a 
bullet-scar  on  his  cheek,  and  the  top  of  his  left  ear 
was  missing.  On  Vinegar's  left  was  a  tall,  ladder- 
leaded  negro,  dressed  like  a  preacher,  sitting  on  a 
front  bench. 

There  was  no  organ  or  other  musical  instrument 
n  the  church.  Vinegar  Atts,  who  had  a  voice  like 

pipe-organ,  always  raised  his  own  tunes  and 
depended  upon  Skeeter  Butts,  Figger  Bush,  and 
Hitch  Diamond  to  carry  the  music  in  the  congre 
gation. 

Vinegar  looked  in  vain  for  his  three  friends 
to-day.  Hitch  Diamond  had  been  gone  for  three 
Sundays;  Skeeter  Butts  was  organizing  a  baseball 
nine,  and  Figger  Bush  had  gone  away  with  a 
fishing-party  of  white  people. 

Suddenly  the  voice  of  Dinner  Gaze,  sitting  on 
Vinegar's  right,  rose  loud  and  clear  in  the  silence: 

"On  de  yuther  side  of  Jordon, 
In  de  sweet  fields  of  Eden, 
Whar  de  Tree  of  Life  is  bloomin', 
Dar  is  rest  fer  you!" 

No  one  in  the  congregation  knew  the  song,  and 
the  solo-voice  floated  out  like  the  song  of  a  bird. 
The  people  sat  with  bowed  heads  and  listened. 
When  the  song  ended  Vinegar  walked  out  of  the 
pulpit  and  extended  his  hand  cordially  to  Dinner 
Gaze. 

"Glad  to  meet  yo*  'quaintance,  my  brudder!" 
he  rumbled.  "Will  you  h'ist  de  toons  fer  us?" 


324  Hoodoo  Face 

IX 

DINNER  GAZE  SINGS. 

Dinner  Gaze  rose  from  his  seat  and,  stooping 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  catch  a  rat,  walked  to  the 
front  of  the  congregation.  Pausing  a  moment, 
his  body  began  to  weave  to  and  fro  as  if  in  con-; 
formity  to  the  words  of  Scripture:  "All  my  bones 
shall  praise  thee. "  Then  to  the  surprise  of  the" 
congregation,  after  all  this  orthodox  preparation 
for  starting  a  tune,  Dinner  Gaze  suddenly  walked 
back  to  his  former  place  and  sat  down!  In  the 
meantime  Vinegar  Atts  was  getting  acquainted 
with  the  other  stranger  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  house. 

"Yes,  suh,  my  name  is  Tucky  Sugg,"  the 
stranger  told  him.  "I  ain't  no  reg'lar  preacher, 
but  I  exhausts  a  little  befo'  de  people  sometimes. " 

1 '  I  hopes  you'll  take  up  yo'  stayin'-place  wid  us,'1] 
Vinegar  said  cordially.  "Us  needs  good  mens. " 

He  turned  to  motion  to  Dinner  Gaze  to  start  the 
song,  and  found  that  Dinner  had  gone  back  to  his 
seat. 

"Whut  ails  you,  brudder?"  he  asked. 

"I's  skeart  I  don't  know  enough  toons  to  lead  de 
singin', "  Gaze  said  with  a  grin.  "I  retires." 

Vinegar's  eyes  fell  upon  Ginny  Babe  Chew. 

"H'ist  a  toon,  sister!"  he  commanded.  In  aj 
hoarse  bellow  Ginny  Babe  began: 

"Blow — ye — de — trumpet — blow " 


Hoodoo  Face  325 

One  line  was  enough. 

The  words  were  not  inspiring,  the  tune  and  tone 
and  manner  of  the  fat  leader  was  a  call  to  peni 
tence,  anguish,  and  tears. 

Vinegar  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Dat's  won't  do,  sister!"  he  interrupted.  "Less 
sing  dis  toon!" 

He  began  a  song  in  a  bellow  which  shook 
the  rafters  of  the  house  and  rattled  the  win 
dows  and  threatened  to  crumble  the  foundations 
of  the  building.  The  song  was  a  jay-bird  af 
fair,  waltz-music  to  the  stanza  and  jig-time  to 
the  chorus.  The  song  might  as  well  have  been 
totally  unfamiliar  to  the  congregation.  It  was 
really  one  of  their  favorites  —  but,  in  spite 
of  that,  they  let  Vinegar  sing  it  through  as  a 
solo. 

Verily,  the  hoodoo  was  working. 

Vinegar  was  appalled  at  the  unresponsiveness  of 
his  congregation,  and  when  the  crowd  had  listened 
without  objection  or  commendation  to  a  solo 
prayer  and  to  a  reading  from  the  old,  worn  Bible 
upon  the  desk,  the  preacher  was  almost  in 
hysterics.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like 
that  before. 

Vinegar  turned  to  Ginny  Babe  Chew  a  second 
time  and  said  desperately: 

"Now,  sister  Ginny,  less  hab  anodder  song — a 
lively  toon  whut  eve'ybody  knows!" 

Ginny  Babe  Chew  rose  to  her  feet,  her  hand 
started  the  gestures  of  an  old-fashioned  singing- 
master,  her  body  "weaved,"  her  voice  arose  in  a 


326  Hoodoo  Face 

high,  drawling  falsetto,  utterly  unlike  her  natural 
tone: 

"  Blow  —  ye  —  de  —  trumpet  —  blow  —  " 

If  the  human  eye  had  power  to  slay,  Ginny  Babe 
would  now  be  dead.  Vinegar  Atts  glared  at  her 
with  such  a  murderous  look  that  the  congregation 
forgot  to  sing  and  watched  him.  Ginny  Babe 
turned  and  gazed  at  the  preacher  with  the  air  of  a 
hurt  child,  and  quietly  took  her  seat. 

There  was  continued  silence  in  the  congregation. 

Vinegar  raised  another  tune: 


* 


"I  muss  tell  de  good  Lawd  all  of  my  trials, 
I  cannot  bear  dese  here  burdens  alone  !  " 

There  was  continued  silence  on  the  part  of  every 
one  except  the  preacher.  The  congregation  knew 
the  song  and  loved  it,  but  they  acted  like  they  had 
never  heard  either  the  song  or  the  tune.  They 
were  certainly  lacking  in  that  Christian  coopera 
tion  which  the  song  recommended,  and  Vinegar 
had  to  tell  his  troubles  and  trials  without  their 
assistance. 

Then  in  utter  desperation,  Vinegar  turned  again 
to  Dinner  Gaze  and  said  pleadingly. 

"Per  Gawd's  sake,  brudder,  come  out  here  an' 
sing  us  a  sweet  toon  —  it  don't  make  difference  even 
ef  we  don't  know  it.  " 

Long  after  Dinner  Gaze  had  ended  his  brief  so 
journ  in  Tickfall,  the  congregation  of  the  Shoofly 
Church  remembered  him  as  he  stood  before  them 


Hoodoo  Face  327 

with  his  scarred  face  and  sang  the  song  of  the  shin 
ing  shore: 

"My  days  are  gliding  swiftly  by, 

An'  I,  a  pilgrim  stranger, 
Would  not  detain  'em  as  dey  fly 

Dem  hours  of  toil  an'  danger; 
Per,  Oh !    We  stand  on  Jordon's  strand 

Our  frien's  are  passin'  over; 
An'  jest  befo',  de  shinin'  sho' 

We  may  almost  discover." 

After  this  Vinegar  arose,  announced  his  text, 
and  began  his  sermon.  ^ 

Thereupon  Aunt  Biddy  Chivill,  'an  old  negress, 
deaf  as  an  adder,  arose  from  one  of  the  pews  and 
seated  herself  in  a  chair  inside  the  altar  railing. 
Unrolling  a  trumpet  hose  she  had  inherited  at  the 
death  of  a  wealthy  white  woman  in  Tickfall,  she 
screwed  the  parts  together  with  great  pride  and 
ostentation,  and  settled  herself  to  listen. 

Vinegar  spoke  about  four  sentences  to  which 
Biddy  Chivill  listened  attentively.  Then  with 
an  air  of  final  decision,  Biddy  removed  the  trumpet 
from  her  ear,  unscrewed  each  part  with  great  care 
and  stowed  the  instrument  away  in  a  bag  which 
she  carried  in  her  lap,  taking  great  pains  to  lock  the 
bag.  Folding  her  hands  across  her  lap  she  fell 
into  peaceful  slumber  while  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed 
on. 

Sister  Ginny  Babe  Chew,  having  attempted 
two  abortive  toots  upon  her  trumpet,  also  fell 
asleep. 


328  Hoodoo  Face 

But  while  Aunt  Biddy  Chivill  slept,  her  little 
four-year-old  granddaughter  became  immediately 
active  and  very  much  awake.  She  crept  out  into 
the  aisle  and  began  to  walk  around  aimlessly,  her 
bare  feet  making  no  noise  upon  the  uncarpeted 
floor. 

For  a  while  she  amused  herself -by  staring  into 
the  faces  of  the  men  and  peeping  under  the  sun- 
bonnets  of  the  women.  The  hands  which  were 
stretched  out  to  arrest  her  were  carefully  avoided, 
and  she  rewarded  each  person  making  the  attempt 
with  a  childish  scowl. 

Then  she  sat  down  upon  the  floor  and  crawled 
under  the  benches.  She  lay  on  the  floor  and  rolled 
under  the  benches,  bobbing  up  at  unexpected 
places  with  an  angelic  smile. 

After  this  she  found  a  large  box  in  the  rear  of  the 
church. 

In  spite  of  the  town  stock  laws,  the  hogs  ran  wild 
in  that  portion  of  Tickfall  known  as  Dirty-Six, 
where  the  Shoofly  Church  was  located.  Many 
of  these  animals  had  their  sleeping  place  under  the 
church,  and  the  building  was  infested  with  fleas. 

It  was  a  custom  when  a  church  meeting  was  to  be 
held,  to  sprinkle  the  floor  with  lime  and  sweep  it 
out,  thus  ridding  the  house  temporarily  of  the 
insects.  For  that  purpose  a  large  box  of  lime  was 
kept  in  the  rear  of  the  church. 

It  was  this  box  that  the  little  black  baby  girl 
discovered.  She  stood  on  tiptoe,  stretched  herself 
up,  and  looked  in.  It  was  white,  very  white,  inside. 
She  reached  over  the  edge  and  touched  the  white- 


Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 

The  "  Revun  "  Vinegar  Atts  began  his  sermon. 


Hoodoo  Face  329 

ness.  She  brought  the  hand  out  and  looked  at  it. 
It  also  was  white. 

Then  the  child  reached  into  the  box  with  both 
hands,  filled  them  with  lime,  and  rubbed  them  on 
her  face.  By  the  mercy  of  heaven,  she  did  not  get 
any  of  the  stuff  into  her  mouth  and  eyes.  Then 
she  sat  down  and  rubbed  her  feet  with  lime.  The 
effect  was  gratifying  and  she  smiled. 

By  this  time  the  sermon  was  ended.  Vinegar 
had  not  done  much,  but  he  had  done  the  best  he 
could. 

"Brudder  Tucky  Sugg  will  pray  for  us!" 
Vinegar  bawled. 

The  congregation  reverently  bowed. 

Then  a  little  black  girl  with  lime-whitened  face 
and  hands  and  legs,  trotted  silently  up  the  aisle 
and  stood  beside  brother  Tucky  Sugg,  listening 
earnestly  to  his  bawling  voice. 

She  stretched  out  a  tiny,  lime-whitened  hand 
and  touched  Tucky  Sugg  timidly  on  the  top  of  his 
step-ladder  head. 

"Who  you  tryin'  to  talk  to,  Revun?"  she  asked 
in  a  bird-like  voice. 

Tucky  Sugg  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  something 
he  had  never  seen  before. 

With  a  loud  bellow  like  a  frightened  cow,  he  rolled 
backward  on  the  floor,  and  got  up  with  an  intense 
desire  to  run. 

"My  Gawd!" 

The  voice  was  like  an  explosion  of  dynamite, 
and  expressed  the  consternation  of  the  congrega 
tion  as  they  rose  to  their  feet  prepared  for  flight. 


33°  Hoodoo  Face 

Ginny  Babe  Chew  awoke  from  her  slumber. 
She  stared  at  the  little  child  a  moment,  then 
reached  out  a  fat,  motherly  hand. 

"Come  here,  honey!"  she  bawled.  "Yo* 
mammy  oughter  had  washed  yo'  face  an*  hands 
befo'  she  sont  you  to  de  meetin'-house. " 

She  wiped  the  lime  off  the  child  with  the  end  of 
her  apron,  and  took  the  child  in  her  lap. 

Then,  while  the  congregation  was  still  standing, 
Dinner  Gaze  from  his  place  at  one  side  of  the 
house  began  to  sing,  while  all  stood  and  listened : 

"At  de  feast  of  Bill  Shasser  an'  a  thousan'  of  his 

lords, 
While  dey  drunk  from  golden  vessels  as  de  Book  of 

Truth  records, 

In  de  night  as  dey  reveled  in  de  royal  palace  hall, 
Dey  wus  seized  wid  cornsternation — 'twas  de  Hand 
»      upon  de  wall ! 
So  our  deeds  is  recorded — dar's  a  Hand  dat's  writin* 

now. 

Sinner,  gib  yo'  sins  de  go-by  an'  to  de  Marster  bow! 
Per  de  day  am  approachin' — it  must  come  to  one  an' 

all 
When  de  sinner's  corndamnation  will  git  written  on  de 

wall!" 

On  the  instant  that  the  song  ended,  a  long,  wail 
ing  cry,  that  was  at  once  full  of  anguish  and  heart 
break,  ran  through  the  building ! 

Old  Isaiah  Gaitskill,  superintendent  of  the  Gait- 
skill  hog-camp,  ran  down  the  aisle,  clawing  at  the 
white  wool  which  fitted  his  head  like  a  rubber  cap. 


Hoodoo  Face  331 

His  face  was  ashy  with  the  dust  of  the  high- way, 
and  tears  had  streaked  it  where  they  had  run 
downward  through  the  dust. 

"My  Gawd,  cullud  folks!5'  he  wailed.  "De 
white  folks  is  done  kotched  Hitch  Diamond — dey 
are  fotchin'  him  to  jail  right  now!  Here  dey  come 
down  de  big  road.  Oh,  my  Gawd!" 

The  old  negro  turned  and  fell  with  his  hands 
clasping  the  altar,  sobbing  like  a  child. 

X 

HOME  AGAIN. 

The  entire  congregation  ran  out  of  the  building 
into  the  churchyard  arid  looked  up  the  street.  To 
the  end  of  their  lives  they  never  forgot  what  they 
saw. 

Hitch  Diamond,  bareheaded,  barefooted,  dressed 
in  a  red  undershirt  and  a  pair  of  blue  overalls,  was 
walking  down  the  middle  of  the  street,  his  hands 
manacled  behind  him,  his  head  hanging  in  shame. 

Dust  covered  him  from  head  to  feet,  and  perspir 
ation  streamed  down  his  face.  He  had  tried  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  away  by  rubbing  his  head 
upon  his  broad  shoulders,  and  this  had  smeared 
his  face  with  mud  until  he  was  a  horrible  creature 
to  behold. 

Hitch  looked  old,  he  looked  sick.  All  of  the 
pride  and  jauntiness  which  had  characterized  him 
when  he  left  Tickfall  for  the  prize-fight  had 
dropped  away,  and  he  was  merely  the  shell  of  the 


332  Hoodoo  Face 

man  who  had  gone  away  from  home  to  certain 
pugilistic  victory. 

On  either  side  of  Hitch  Diamond  rode  a  strange 
white  man — New  Orleans  detectives  employed  by 
the  mill  owners  of  Sawtown  to  track  the  fugitive 
down.  Behind  the  three  rode  the  sheriff  of  Tick- 
fall  Parish,  Mr.  John  Flournoy. 

Dainty  Blackum  ran  back  into  the  church  and 
brought  from  the  pulpit  a  glass  pitcher  with  a 
broken  spout.  She  met  Hitch  and  the  officers 
right  in  front  of  the  church,  and  the  officers  called 
a  halt  as  she  held  the  pitcher  up  to  Hitch  Diamond's 
thirsty  lips.  Then,  dipping  a  handkerchief  into 
the  water,  she  wiped  the  mud  and  sweat  from  the 
tortured  man's  face. 

Wail  after  wail  arose  from  the  crowd  of  negroes 
in  front  of  the  Shoofly  Church,  and  Hitch  turned 
and  looked  at  them  as  if  he  did  not  realize  where 
he  was. 

Vinegar  Atts  ran  out  and  placed  his  trembling 
hand  upon  Sheriff  Flournoy's  dusty  stirrup. 

"Whut  dey  got  Hitch  fer,  Marse  John?"  he 
sobbed. 

" Murder!"  Flournoy  growled  through  jaws 
which  were  shut  together  like  a  bear- trap.  "He 
killed  the  night  watchman  at  the  Sawtown  mill!" 

The  party  started  again,  and  Vinegar  stood  in 
his  tracks  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

It  seemed  to  take  a  few  minutes  for  the  Shoofly 
congregation  to  comprehend  what  Flournoy  had 
said,  or  else  the  shock  was  so  great  that  even  their 
emotions  could  find  no  expression,  voluble  as  they 


Hoodoo  Face  333 

ire  as  a  race.  Then  a  moan  of  sorrow  swept  like 
i  deep-toned  note  from  some  mighty  musical 
nstrument;  it  was  rich,  melodious,  heart-breaking 
—an  expression  of  the  deepest  and  most  acute 
jrief  of  their  humble  lives. 

For  Hitch  was  the  hero  of  the  colored  population 
)f  Tickfall.  They  had  shared  his  glory  as  victor 
n  many  a  hard-fought  fistic  battle.  They  had 
von  many  dollars  on  his  prowess  as  a  boxer.  They 
lad  helped  to  train  him  and  perfect  his  wonderful 
physical  organization  for  every  contest  he  had 
bver  participated  in,  and  they  loved  him! 

And  Hitch  deserved  their  affection.  According 
to  his  lights  he  was  a  good  man,  a  clean  liver,  one 
who  took  the  best  care  he  knew  how  of  his  superb 
body.  There  was  nothing  vicious  or  ugly  about 
his  disposition.  He  was  merely  a  great,  strong, 
Done-headed  pugilist,  who  had  made  the  most  of 
limself  by  developing  and  using  the  best  talent 

possessed,  namely,  his  giant  strength. 

Still  moaning  like  the  sea  as  the  tide  flows  out, 
the  Shoofly  congregation  flowed  out  into  the  road 
and  fell  in  behind,  forming  a  long  procession  of  sor 
rowing  friends. 

Suddenly,  above  the  low  moan,  in  a  tone  which 
ripped  and  roared  and  snarled  like  the  angry 
water  breaking  through  a  levee,  came  the  mighty 
voice  of  Ginny  Babe  Chew: 

" Murder!  Murder!  Murder!  Whut  do  Gawd 
Awmighty  think  about  dat?" 

She  pranced  down  the  street,  thrusting  the 
people  aside  with  her  ponderous  body  as  a  steam- 


334  Hoodoo  Face 

boat  cuts  through  the  mushy  ice  upon  a  river. 
Her  voice  howled  like  a  wolf's  call,  with  a  taunt 
ing,  bark-like,  malicious,  nerve-searing  gratification : 

"Murder!" 

She  managed  to  reach  the  head  of  the  procession 
and  walked  just  behind  Sheriff  Flournoy's  horse. 

She  whirled  round  and  round  like  a  Dervish, 
stooped  and  threw  dust  in  the  air,  tore  her  clothes, 
and  waving  her  fists  at  the  sky  shrieked  like  a 
maniac : 

1  'Murder!    Murder!    Murder!" 

John  Flournoy  stopped  his  horse,  and  turned 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  queer  expression  upon  his 
face.  Once  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  then 
shut  his  jaws  tight,  turned  his  eyes  forward  and 
rode  on. 

"Murder!"    Ginny  Babe  Chew  screamed. 

Vinegar  Atts  could  endure  the  horror  no  longer. 
He  ran  forward,  and  caught  Ginny  Babe  by  her 
fat  shoulder  and  whirled  her  around.  Vinegar 
had  had  years  of  experience  as  a  pugilist  and  was 
Hitch's  boxing  partner  to  this  day.  He  knew 
exactly  where  to  place  his  blow. 

His  open  palm  with  all  his  strength  behind  it 
flattened  upon  Ginny  Babe's  squalling  lips.  She 
uttered  a  low  grunt,  and  fell  in  the  street. 

John  Flournoy  looked  back  and  nodded  his 
approval. 

The  crowd  coming  behind  split  in  two  halves, 
and  walked  around  Ginny 's  prostrate  body,  noting 
without  pity  that  a  stream  of  blood  was  flowing 
from  her  thick  lips.  The  crowd  behind  had  been 


Hoodoo  Face  335 

augmented  by  hundreds  before  they  reached  the 
Hen-Scratch  saloon. 

Skeeter  Butts  had  just  come  to  town  in  his 
automobile,  and  was  standing  in  front  of  his  place 
of  business.  His  face  turned  the  color  of  ashes, 
and  his  lips  stiffened  with  horror  as  he  realized 
what  was  coming  down  the  street  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  Hitch!"  he  wailed.  "Shorely  dey  ain't 
got  you  right,  is  dey,  Hitch?  Tell  me  dat  dey 
done  missed  it!" 

But  Hitch  was  too  tortured  to  reply.  He  cast 
one  lingering  look  upon  his  friend,  and  turned 
away  with  blood-shot,  agonized  eyes.  Skeeter 
Butts  reeled  back  from  the  middle  of  the  street  and 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  trembling  hands. 

For  a  while  after  that  the  procession  moved  for 
ward  in  silence.  Then  a  succession  of  piercing 
screams  shattered  the  atmosphere.  A  handsome 
girl,  whose  hands  and  face  were  the  color  of  old 
gold,  came  running  down  the  street,  and  threw  her 
arms  around  Hitch  Diamond's  neck. 

"Oh,  Hitchie!  Hitchie!  Hitchie!"  she  screamed. 

It  was  Goldie  Curtain,  Hitch's  wife. 

For  a  moment  Hitch's  giant  body  wavered,  his 
knees  bent  under  him,  and  he  staggered  as  if  about 
to  fall.  He  stopped  and  leaned  heavily  upon  the 
sobbing  girl  whose  arms  clasped  his  neck. 

"Move  on!"  a  sharp-voiced  officer  spoke. 

Goldie  Curtain  fell  in  the  dust  of  the  street  like 
one  dead.  Sheriff  Flournoy,  whose  face  was  turned 
to  look  behind  him,  did  not  see  her  lying  there. 
His  nervous  horse  leaped  over  her  prostrate  body. 


336  Hoodoo  Face 

Vinegar  Atts,  sobbing  aloud,  picked  the  girl  up 
in  his  powerful  arms,  carried  her  into  her  own 
house  and  placed  her  upon  a  bed.  Then  he  came 
out  and  joined  again  with  the  crowd  which  followed 
Hitch  until  the  doors  of  the  jail  closed  behind  him. 

When  Hitch  had  passed  out  of  sight  behind 
those  doors,  Ginny  Babe  Chew  came  staggering 
down  the  street,  wiping  the  blood  from  her  lips 
and  the  front  of  her  dress.  She  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  street  in  front  of  the  jail,  shrieking  like  a 
maniac.  She  stooped  and  gathered  handfuls  of 
sand  and  tossed  them  into  the  air  above  her  head, 
while  her  calliope-like  voice  shrieked  again  and 
again : 

1 '  Good-by,  Hitch !  Good-by ,  Hitch !  Good-by, 
Hitch !" 

XI 

UP  AGAINST  IT. 

A  whole  week  passed  during  which  Skeeter 
Butts  sat  in  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  nervously 
smoking  cigarettes  and  listening  to  the  whispered 
tales  which  came  to  him  from  his  negro  friends. 

Skeeter  had  made  no  attempt  to  see  Hitch  Dia 
mond,  and  had  not  talked  about  him  to  any  of  the 
white  people.  He  knew  it  was  not  wise  to  show 
too  much  interest  in  the  case  of  a  negro  criminal. 
He  did  not  care  to  get  himself  under  suspicion. 
All  of  Hitch's  friends  felt  the  same  way,  and  since 
their  first  dramatic  display  of  emotion  as  Hitch 


Hoodoo  Face  337 

was  led  captive  before  the  Shoofly  Church,  they 
had  assumed  an  attitude  of  indifference  toward 
Hitch  and  his  pitiable  plight. 

It  was  the  Sunday  following  Hitch's  return  to 
Tickfall  when  Skeeter  determined  to  interview 
Sheriff  John  Flournoy .  Skeeter  timed  his  call  with 
the  sheriff's  custom  of  sitting  on  a  little  side  porch 
of  his  home  and  smoking  an  after-dinner  cigar. 

Skeeter  fumbled  for  a  few  minutes  with  his  hat, 
considering  how  to  begin  what  he  had  to  say. 
Then  he  asked : 

"Marse  John,  whut  is  de  white  folks  gwine  do 
wid  Hitch  Diamond?" 

"Hang  him!"  Flournoy  said  bluntly,  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  what  Skeeter  would  say  next. 

The  colored  man  said  nothing  for  five  minutes. 
He  sank  down  weakly  upon  the  bottom  step  of  the 
porch,  his  shoulders  pathetically  hunched,  and  his 
head  resting  upon  his  hands.  At  last  he  mumbled : 

"  Marse  John,  I  don't  b'lieve  Hitch  kilt  anybody. 
He  never  done  it." 

"Have  you  any  proof  of  his  innocence,  Skee 
ter?"  Flournoy  asked. 

"Naw,suh.tf 

"  It's  hard  for  me  to  believe,  Skeeter, "  Flournoy 
continued  quietly.  "Hitch  Diamond  was  born 
on  my  plantation,  and  ever  since  I  have  known  him 
he  has  been  a  big,  good-natured,  bone-headed, 
peaceable,  law-abiding  negro.  Robbery  and  mur 
der  are  not  in  his  line." 

"Dat's  right,  Marse  John — Hitch  never  done 
It." 


338  Hoodoo  Face 

There  was  a  little  silence,  after  which  Flournoy 
said: 

"I  think  they've  got  Hitch,  Skeeter.  Some  of 
the  white  people  in  this  town  have  always  been 
very  fond  of  Hitch.  They  ought  to  come  to  his 
aid  at  once — he's  their  nigger.  But  all  the  white 
folks  have  kept  away." 

11  Dat's  a  bad  sign,  Marse  John, "  Skeeter  agreed 
mournfully . 

"  Yes.     It  means  that  Hitch  is  up  against  it. " 

"Whut  proofs  is  dey  got,  Marse  John?"  Skeeter 
asked. 

Replying,  Flournoy  spoke  slowly  and  painfully, 
as  if  the  narration  was  repugnant  to  him : 

"Hitch  Diamond  got  off  the  train  at  Sawtown 
about  three  o'clock  on  Monday  afternoon.  A 
grocer  saw  him  dressed  in  a  stove-pipe  hat,  a 
Prince  Albert  coat,  and  a  yellow  waistcoat.  A 
little  later  he  was  seen  by  two  small  white  boys 
without  his  hat,  coat,  or  vest,  sitting  on  the  wharf - 
boat.  A  watchman  on  the  wharf -boat  says  that 
Hitch  attempted  to  run  when  he  came  near,  and  in 
the  effort  to  arrest  Hitch  his  shirt  was  torn  off  his 
back.  Dainty  Blackum  says  that  Hitch  came  to 
her  home,  barefooted,  bareheaded,  with  no  outer 
shirt,  but  wearing  a  red  undershirt. 

"Hitch  Diamond  and  Dude  Blackum  had  a 
drink  together,  and  then  both  men  left  Blackum's 
cabin  about  dark  and  went  toward  the  sawmill. 
Five  hours  later  the  commissary  store  was  robbed 
and  the  watchman  was  killed. 

"The  mill  employees  organized  a  search-party 


Hoodoo  Face  339 

and  had  a  hand  to  hand  battle  with  Hitch  Dia 
mond  inside  the  lumber  yard,  and  Hitch  escaped. 
The  flash-lights  were  playing  on  Hitch,  and  every 
body  saw  him  and  recognized  him. 

"After  Hitch  escaped,  Dude  Blackum  was 
caught  inside  the  lumber  yard,  and  in  attempting 
to  escape  by  swimming  the  Mississippi  River, 
Dude  was  drowned." 

"My  Lawd!"  Skeeter  shuddered. 

"Now,  here  is  the  worst  part  of  it,"  Flournoy 
continued.  "A  stove-pipe  hat,  a  Prince  Albert 
coat,  and  a  yellow  waistcoat  were  found  under 
the  steps  of  the  commissary  store,  and  these  gar 
ments  fit  Hitch  Diamond  perfectly,  and  Hitch 
admits  that  they  are  his.  A  pair  of  black  trousers, 
torn  at  the  seat  and  with  one  leg  split  up  the  front 
from  the  bottom  almost  to  the  waistband,  was 
found  near  the  scene  of  the  fight  in  the  lumber 
yard,  and  this  pair  of  trousers  fits  Hitch  and  he 
admits  that  the  garment  is  his. " 

"Oh,  Lawdy!"  Skeeter  shuddered. 

"Hitch  can  give  no  reason  for  his  visit  to  Saw- 
town  except  that  he  had  never  been  there  and 
wanted  to  see  the  place.  He  explains  the  loss  of 
his  hat  and  coat  and  vest  by  saying  that  he  sur 
rendered  them  to  a  negro  whom  he  had  never 
seen  before  and  whose  name  he  did  not  know  to 
be  hung  up  in  the  Sawtown  barracks  where  the 
homeless  workmen  sleep.  He  confesses  that  he 
abandoned  his  trousers  in  the  lumber  yard  for  the 
purpose  of  fighting  his  way  through  the  mob  of 
searchers  and  escaping. 


34°  Hoodoo  Face 

"  Hitch  declares  that  he  did  not  know  a  human 
being  in  Sawtown.  Dainty  Blackum  says  that 
Hitch  told  her  that  he  had  known  Dude  Blackum 
for  many  years.  Hitch  says  he  went  to  Dude 
Blackum's  cabin  to  get  a  drink  of  liquor.  Dainty 
says  he  pretended  to  be  a  negro  preacher,  and 
claimed  to  be  much  hurt  because  Dude  had  not 
secured  him  to  marry  them. 

"Hitch  admits  that  he  traveled  from  Sawtown 
to  the  Gaitskill  hog-camp  wearing  no  garments 
except  his  underclothes,  and  going  by  night.  Old 
Isaiah  Gaitskill  says  that  Hitch  came  to  his  cabin 
in  that  undressed  condition,  sick  with  hunger  and 
exhaustion,  and  would  not  permit  him  to  send  for  a 
doctor,  to  inform  his  wife,  or  let  any  of  his  friends 
know  where  he  was!" 

"My  lawdyftiussy ! "  Skeeter  chattered.  The 
little  barkeeper  felt  as  though  cold  snakes  were 
crawling  up  and  down  his  spine,  and  he  sat  for  ten 
minutes  without  saying  a  word.  At  last  Flournoy 
asked : 

"What  do  you  make  of  it,  Skeeter?"  . 

"Marse  John,"  Skeeter  protested  in  a  wailing 
tone,  "Hitch  Diamond  is  done  cornfessed  too 
much!" 

Flournoy  understood  exactly  what  he  meant. 

"Certainly,"  he  said.  "Hitch  has  talked  too 
freely  to  be  guilty — his  statements  have  been 
too  frank.  A  guilty  negro  never  does  that;  if 
he  commits  a  crime,  he  denies  everything  to 
the  very  last,  and  offers  no  explanation  for  any 
thing." 


Hoodoo  Face  341 

"Dat's  right,"  Skeeter  sighed.  "Dat's  how  he 
do." 

"But  you'd  have  a  happy  time  convincing  a 
jury  of  Hitch's  innocence  on  the  ground  that  he 
had  talked  too  much!" 

After  a  long  silence,  Skeeter  asked : 

"Whut  does  you  think  about  dis  case,  Marse 
John?" 

"I  think  Hitch  was  drunk, "  Flournoy  answered. 
"I  doubt  if  Hitch  himself  knows  whether  he 
committed  that  crime  or  not.  He  talks  a  lot  of 
stuff  about  meeting  a  man  on  the  train,  about 
losing  some  money,  about  giving  his  clothes  away, 
about  being  stepped  on  by  some  man  while  he  was 
lying  asleep  in  a  gulley — all  of  it  a  perfect  mess. 
I  hate  to  admit  it,  but  I  really  believe  that  Hitch 
committed  the  crime  while  in  an  intoxicated 
condition.  Dainty  Blackum  says  that  he  took 
fourteen  swallows  of  bust-head,  pine-top,  nigger 
whisky  in  her  cabin,  and  that  he  and  Dude  took 
the  jug  with  them  when  they  left. " 

"My  gosh!"  Skeeter  sighed.  "When  did  de 
white  folks  'terrogate  Dainty  Blackum?" 

"They  questioned  her  in  Sawtown  the  day  after 
Dude  was  killed  by  the  mob,"  Flournoy  replied. 
"Dainty  is  here  now — in  Ginny  Babe  Chew's 
house.  I'm  keeping  watch  on  her,  because  she's  a 
material  witness. " 

"When  am  Hitch's  trial  gwine  be,  Marse  John? " 
Skeeter  asked. 

"It  begins  a  month  from  next  Tuesday,"  the 
sheriff  said. 


342  Hoodoo  Face 

'Tore  old  Hitchy!"  Skeeter  mourned. 

Two  big  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  and 
dropped  upon  his  brown  hands.  His  lips  began  to 
tremble,  and  he  hid  his  face  with  his  hat  and  sat 
with  his  shoulders  shaking  with  grief.  Finally  he 
said  in  a  mournful  voice: 

"Hitch  is  always  been  de  bes'  nigger  frien'  I'm 
had,  Marse  John — him  an'  Vinegar  Atts.  I  wus 
always  a  little  runt  nigger  an'  I  didn't  had  no 
kinnery,  an'  Hitch  an*  Vinegar,  dey  always  dee- 
fended  me  when  de  yuther  nigger-boys  pecked  on 
me " 

Skeeter  began  to  sob  and  sat  mourning  for  his 
friend  as  though  he  were  already  dead. 

Flournoy  endured  the  racket  as  long  as  he  cared 
to,  then  tossed  his  cigar-stub  into  a  rose-bush, 
walked  down  the  steps,  and  climbed  into  his 
automobile. 

Without  a  word  to  Skeeter,  he  shot  down  the 
runway  into  the  street  and  turned  toward  the 
courthouse.  In  a  moment  he  was  swallowed  up 
in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

XII 
HITCH'S  MOTHER. 

Skeeter  sat  for  two  hours  turning  over  the 
appalling  array  of  facts  which  the  sheriff  had  set 
before  him  for  the  condemnation  of  his  friend. 
Nothing  seemed  to  be  lacking  except  Hitch's 
confession  that  he  had  robbed  the  store  and  killed 
the  watchman. 


Hoodoo  Face  343 

"Dis  here  is  awful!"  he  sighed.  "I's  gwine 
over  an'  git  some  religium  advices  from  de  Revun 
Vinegar  Atts. " 

He  found  Vinegar  occupying  his  customary  seat 
under  a  chinaberry  tree  in  front  of  the  Shoofly 
Church.  Vinegar  moved  his  chair  only  when  the 
shadow  of  the  tree  shifted  and  the  sun  shone  upon 
his  head.  He  called  this  diversion  "settin'  de  sun 
aroun'  de  tree." 

"Revun,"  Skeeter  began,  "I  been  cornversin' 
Marse  John  Flournoy  about  our  chu'ch  an'  lodge 
brudder,  Hitch  Diamond. " 

"No  hope!"  Vinegar  grumbled.  "Hitch  is 
done  flirted  wid  a  hearse  one  time  too  many.  He's 
as  good  as  dead. " 

"Cain't  we  do  nothin'  fer  him?"  Skeeter 
asked. 

"We  kin  save  up  money  in  de  chu'ch  an'  de 
lodge  fer  a  real  nice  funeral, ' '  Vinegar  said.  ' '  Atter 
de  white  folks  is  done  deir  wuck,  Hitch'll  furnish 
de  corp'. " 

"Is  you  interrogated  any  of  de  white  folks?" 
Skeeter  inquired. 

"Yes,  suh.  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  tole  me  all  I 
knows.  Hitch  wucked  fer  de  kunnel,  an'  kunnel 
say  he's  got  to  git  him  anodder  nigger — de  cote- 
house  is  gwine  spile  Hitch!" 

"Ain't  de  kunnel  tryin'  to  he'p  Hitch  none?" 
Skeeter  asked. 

"Naw.  What  kin  be  did  fer  a  nigger  whut  is 
kotch  his  tail  in  a  cuttin'-box  like  Hitch  done?" 

"I  feels  sorry  fer  Hitch,  Revun,"  Skeeter  mum- 


344  Hoodoo  Face 

bled  piteously.  "Gawd,  I'd  do  anything  fer  him 
datlcould!" 

1 '  Not  me ! "  Vinegar  bellowed.  ' '  When  de  white 
folks  backs  off,  dat's  de  sign  fer  Revun  Atts  to  git 
away  befo'  de  bust-up  comes.  Naw,  suh,  Hitch 
ain't  got  no  hope!" 

Vinegar's  voice  was  a  bellow  which  could  be 
heard  a  block  away.  He  stood  up,  took  off  his 
stove-pipe  preaching  hat,  and  mopped  the  sweat 
from  the  top  of  his  bald  head  with  a  big,  red 
handkerchief. 

"Naw,  suh!"  he  howled.  "You  oughter  had 
been  to  chu'ch  dis  mawnin'  an'  heered  me  orate 
'bout  Hitch  Diamond.  I  shore  preached  his 
funeral  good!  I  tole  dem  niggers  how  Hitch 
went  to  N'Awleens  an'  fit  in  a  sinful  prize-fight  an' 
got  on  a  big,  bust-head  drunk  an'  vamoosed  up  to 
Sawtown  an'  robbed  an'  kilt,  an'  is  fotch  back  here 
now  to  dis  town  to  show  whut  happens  to  de 
members  of  de  Shoo-fly  Chu'ch  when  dey  rambles 
away  from  de  highways  of  holiness — whoosh!" 

Vinegar  broke  off  with  a  snort  and  a  flourish, 
seizing  the  chair  in  which  he  had  sat  and  thrust 
it  up  so  close  to  Skeeter's  chair  that  he  pinched 
Skeeter's  fingers. 

Then  he  sat  down  with  his  thick  lips  not  two 
inches  from  Skeeter's  ear. 

' '  Listen,  Skeeter, ' '  he  whispered.  ' '  Marse  Tom 
Gaitskill  an'  Sheriff  John  Flournoy  don't  think 
dat  Hitch  is  guilty — dey's  bellerin'  it  aroun' 
town  that  Hitch  is  shore  a  deader  so  dey  kin  hunt 
fer  de  real  guilty  man  on  de  sly!" 


Hoodoo  Face  345 

" Bless  Gawd!"  Skeeter  grinned. 

"I  been  buttlin'  fer  Marse  Tom  ever  since 
Hitch  went  to  N'Awleens,  an'  I  been  snoopin' 
aroun'  an'  listenin'  to  deir  talk.  Marse  Tom  an' 
Marse  John  sot  up  mighty  nigh  all  night  las' 
Friday  talkin'  an'  smokin'  an'  cussin'  in  Marse 
Tom's  dinin'-room.  I  sot  up  out  on  de  porch  an' 
listened  to  'em.  Dey  done  agree  dat  de  bes'  thing 
fer  Hitch  is  fer  eve'ybody  not  to  hab  no  hope.  I 
agrees  wid  de  white  folks. " 

"Bless  Gawd!"  Skeeter  Butts  cackled. 

"Git  yo'  nose  on  de  trail  an'  sot  yo'  mouth  to 
howlin'  like  a  houn'-dog,  Skeeter,"  Vinegar 
grinned.  Then,  in  a  bellow  which  echoed  back 
from  the  woods  in  the  rear  of  the  church,  he  howled : 
"No  hope!" 

"Dem  is  de  best  religium  advices  you  ever 
orated,  Revun, "  Skeeter  cackled  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet.  "I's  gwine  turn  detecative  right  dis  minute 
an'  snoop  aroun'  seein'  how  much  I  kin  find  out!" 

He  walked  straight  to  the  courthouse  and 
entered  the  sheriff's  office. 

"Could  I  be  allowed  to  see  Hitch,  Marse  John?" 
he  asked. 

1 '  Certainly.  Any  of  his  colored  friends  may  see 
him  if  they  come  at  a  reasonable  time.  I'll  admit 
you  to  the  jail." 

When  Skeeter  was  admitted  and  locked  behind 
the  bars  of  the  jail,  and  saw  Hitch  Diamond 
pacing  up  and  down  the  corridor  in  the  second 
story,  the  only  occupant  of  the  prison,  he  found 
to  his  annoyance  that  he  could  not  begin  a  word 


346  Hoodoo  Face 

of  conversation  with  his  lifelong  friend.  When 
talking  to  others,  he  could  speak  about  Hitch 
and  his  misfortune  with  great  volubility,  but  face 
to  face  with  Hitch,  what  was  there  to  say? 

The  two  sat  down,  Skeeter  laid  a  package  of 
cigarettes  upon  the  seat  of  a  chair  beside  them, 
and  after  that  for  twenty  minutes  there  was  perfect 
silence.  Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  except 
their  first  brief  and  embarrassed  greetings.  Each 
sat,  smoking  furiously,  and  lighting  a  fresh  ciga 
rette  upon  the  stub  of  the  old  one. 

At  last  Skeeter  managed  to  speak,  and  made 
the  one  request  which  opened  the  floodgates  of 
Hitch  Diamond's  talk: 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Hitchy.  Don't  leave  out 
no  little  thing." 

Hitch  dropped  his  cigarette  at  his  feet  and  began. 

For  two  hours  his  low  voice  rumbled  on,  the 
narrative  beginning  from  the  moment  he  left  Tick- 
fall  to  go  to  New  Orleans  to  the  prize-fight  and 
progressing  with  minute  particularity  to  the 
moment  when  he  sat  in  the  jail  beside  Skeeter 
Butts. 

Skeeter  listened  with  a  heart  as  heavy  as  lead. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  Hitch  had  confessed  every 
thing  except  the  actual  commission  of  the  crime  of 
murder  and  robbery.  The  array  of  proof  which 
Flournoy  had  was  sustained  and  established  in 
every  particular  by  Hitch's  story.  Vinegar  had 
fired  his  hopes  for  a  moment  by  betraying  the 
secret  that  the  white  folks  were  unconvinced  of 
Hitch's  guilt  and  were  hunting  for  the  perpetrator 


Hoodoo  Face  347 

of  the  deed.  But  Skeeter  knew  when  Hitch  had 
finished  his  story  that  Hitch  would  pay  the  penalty 
for  his  crime. 

Not  a  word  did  Skeeter  utter  until  the  narra 
tive  was  ended.  Then  he  arose  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"Good-by,  Hitch,"  he  said,  with  a  catch  in  his 
voice.  He  walked  down  the  steps,  and  the  jailer 
opened  the  door  and  let  him  out. 

Passing  across  the  courthouse  yard  he  met 
Sheriff  Flournoy. 

"Marse  John, "  he  said,  "you  tole  me  dat  Hitch 
wus  borned  on  yo'  plantation.  Does  you  know 
who  his  maw  is?" 

"Certainly." 

"Is  his  maw  livin'  yit?M 

"Yes." 

"I  ain't  never  heerd  Hitch  say  nothin'  'bout  his 
maw,"  Skeeter  remarked. 

"Hitch  don't  know  who  his  mother  is,"  Flour 
noy  smiled.  "I  doubt  if  she  knows  that  Hitch  is 
her  son. " 

"How  come?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"Hitch's  mother  committed  a  little  crime  the 
year  before  I  was  elected  sheriff.  Hitch  was  then 
one  year  old.  His  mother  abandoned  him — ran 
off  and  stayed  away  for  thirty  years.  Hitch  was 
taken  care  of  by  the  other  negroes  on  the  plan 
tation,  and  all  who  once  knew  who  Hitch's  mother 
is  are  now  either  dead  or  have  gone  away  from 
here." 

"Per    Gawd's    sake,    Marse    John!"    Skeeter 


348  Hoodoo  Face 

wailed.  "Why  don't  you  tell  Hitch  who  his  maw 
am?  Who  is  she?" 

Flournoy  considered  this  question  while  he  took 
the  time  to  light  a  fresh  cigar.  Then  he  asked : 

"If  I  tell  you  who  Hitch's  mother  is,  will  you 
promise  never  to  reveal  it?" 

* '  I  promises ! ' '  Skeeter  exclaimed. 

"His  mother  is  Ginny  Babe  Chew!"  the  sheriff 
told  him. 

Skeeter  reeled  back  from  the  shock,  and  an 
exclamation  shot  from  his  throat  like  a  bullet. 

He  turned  round  and  round  like  a  man  who  was 
dazed,  uttering  a  series  of  highly  profane  expletives 
like  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot. 

"You  asked  me  why  I  didn't  tell  Hitch  who  his 
mother  was,"  the  sheriff  continued,  as  he  started 
away.  ' '  I  think  you  know  the  answer ! " 

Ginny  Babe  Chew! 

Like  a  panorama  the  events  of  the  Sunday  be 
fore  passed  before  his  dazed  and  horrified  vision 
— Ginny  Babe  Chew,  shrieking,  cursing,  whoop 
ing,  thrusting  the  people  aside  and  pressing  up 
behind  the  sheriff's  horse,  howling  after  her  son  the 
charge  of  "Murder!  Murder!  Murder!"  Again 
he  saw  her  struck  down  by  the  massive  fist  of  Vine 
gar  Atts,  the  blood  streaming  from  her  lips,  the 
mob  splitting  into  halves  as  they  walked  past  her, 
while  she  groaned  and  cursed,  groveling  in  the  dust. 
Again  he  saw  her  staggering  down  the  street,  the 
blood  reddening  the  front  of  her  dress  and  making 
a  red  froth  upon  her  lips,  as  she  stood  in  front  of 
the  jail  tossing  dust  into  the  air,  gyrating,  shriek- 


Hoodoo  Face  349 

ing,  cursing,  and  wailing,  "Good-by,  Hitch! 
Good-by,  Hitch!" 

What  a  mother  for  any  man  to  have ! 

Skeeter  staggered  across  the  courthouse  yard, 
wiping  the  clammy  sweat  from  his  temples. 

"Marse  John  made  me  promise  not  to  tell 
nobody  who  Hitch's  maw  is.  Ef  I  wus  to  tell  dat 
fack,  de  white  folks  would  hang  Hitch  Diamond 
befo'  night.  Dat's  de  awfullest  fack  agin  him 
yit!" 

In  front  of  the  post-office  he  met  Vinegar  Atts. 

"Revun  Atts,"  Skeeter  said  earnestly,  "ef  you 
know  any  good  religium  advices  to  gib  to  a  nigger 
whut  is  about  to  die,  fer  de  Lawd  sake  go  preach 
'em  to  Hitch  Diamond.  De  white  folks  is  got 
him — got  him  good ! ' ' 

XIII 

THE  HOODOO  FACE. 

The  sunshine  lay  hot  upon  the  sand  in  the 
negro  settlement  called  Dirty-Six  when  Dainty 
Blackum  arose  from  her  bed,  dressed,  and  walked 
out  into  the  yard.  In  the  rear  of  Ginny  Babe 
Chew's  house  was  a  large  number  of  fig  and  pecan- 
trees,  and  under  the  shade  of  one  of  these  trees, 
patiently  waiting  and  smoking  a  cigarette,  was 
Skeeter  Butts. 

For  a  moment  Dainty  was  surprised;  then  she 
reflected  that  she  had  expected  some  man  to  be 
there  that  morning,  as  some  man  had  been  there 


35°  Hoodoo  Face 

every  morning,   and  she  would  have  been  dis 
appointed  if  she  had  not  found  one. 

But  Skeeter  Butts  had  never  been  there  before. 
She  had  heard  that  he  was  very  susceptible  to  the 
charms  of  women,  but  up  to  this  time  she  had 
received  the  devoted  attention  of  only  two  men- 
Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg. 

She  came  over  and  sat  down  beside  Skeeter. 

"Yistiddy  wus  a  busy  day  fer  me,  Skeeter," 
she  began.  "Two  men  tole  me  dey  loved  me  an' 
axed  me  to  marry  'em.  Dat's  a  pretty  good 
starter." 

Skeeter  had  entertained  no  idea  of  making  love 
to  Dainty  when  he  called  to  see  her,  having  had  an 
entirely  different  purpose.  But  as  he  did  not  know 
exactly  how  to  approach  the  subject  which  he 
wished  to  discuss,  he  decided  to  follow  her  line  of 
conversation,  hoping  to  direct  it  at  a  later  time. 

"Yes'm,  dat's  so,"  Skeeter  remarked  without 
enthusiasm.  "De  fack  is,  I  wus  so  busy  dat  I 
looked  over  de  chance  to  ax  you  to  marry  me 
yistiddy,  so  I  corned  early  dis  mawnin'  to  git  in  a 
word  'bout  dat " 

"I  tole  de  two  yuther  men  dey  wus  losin'  time, 
an'  I  tells  you  dat  same  word  in  eggsvance. " 

"Of  co'se,  I  don't  expeck  you  to  fall  right  in  wid 
dat  suggestion,"  Skeeter  hastened  to  say.  "But 
I  wants  you  to  know  whut  way  I  is  leanin'. " 

"You  done  took  a  notion  to  lean  mighty  sud 
den,"  Dainty  snapped.  "You  better  lean  de 
yuther  way.  You  ain't  able  to  suppote  no  wife. " 

"Whut's  de  use  of  gittin'  able  to  suppote  some- 


Hoodoo  Face  351 

pin  you  ain't  got?"  Skeeter  asked  absently.  "Us 
owns  a  hoss  befo'  us  buys  any  hoss-feed. " 

The  girl  made  no  reply. 

After  a  while  Skeeter  added  another  remark  in 
an  absent-minded  way: 

"Sometimes  niggers  buys  a  hoss  an'  depen's  on 
stealin'  de  hoss-feed.  Dey  always  gits  in  trouble 
wid  de  white  folks,  too,  when  dey  does  dat. " 

Instantly  the  girl's  manner  changed  completely. 
She  bit  her  lips  and  her  hands  began  to  tremble. 
She  looked  as  if  dizziness  and  weakness  were  about 
to  overcome  her. 

"When  a  nigger  gits  in  trouble  wid  de  white 
folks,  it's  all  off  wid  him,"  Skeeter  blundered  on, 
his  mind  upon  Hitch  Diamond,  and  all  unconscious 
of  the  impression  he  was  making  upon  the  girl 
beside  him.  "Sometimes  luck  is  wid  him  an'  he 
kin  run  off,  but  most  often  he " 

Suddenly  Skeeter  broke  off  and  looked  at  Dainty 
with  popping  eyes.  For  the  moment  he  had  for 
gotten  the  tragedy  in  the  girl's  life,  and  now  he 
was  struck  speechless,  and  merely  sat  there  and 
stared  and  gasped.  At  last  he  murmured: 

"I  done  slopped  de  wrong  pig!" 

"Dat's  right,  Skeeter,"  the  girl  said  in  a  bitter 
tone.  "De  best  thing  you  kin  do  is  to  ramble 
outen  dis  yard  an'  don't  come  back  no  more. " 

"I  didn't  mean  nothin',  Dainty,"  Skeeter  said 
humbly.  "I's  done  had  a  heap  of  trouble,  an'  it 
'pears  like  I  ain't  got  my  real  good  sense. " 

"Dat's  a  fack, "  Dainty  said. 

"I  won't  never  do  it  no  mo',"  Skeeter  pleaded. 


352  Hoodoo  Face 

"Dat's  a  fack, "  Dainty  announced.  She  arose 
and  walked  into  the  house. 

Skeeter  remained  seated  upon  the  bench,  trying 
to  think  up  some  way  to  square  himself  with  the 
girl,  but  his  mind  would  not  work  with  its  usual 
facility. 

Then  in  the  yard  on  the  other  side  of  the  house 
there  was  a  loud,  angry  squall,  followed  by  the 
wild,  frightened  squawking  of  a  hen,  and  Ginny 
Babe  Chew  waddled  around  to  where  Skeeter 
was  sitting. 

At  the  corner  of  the  house  there  was  a  barrel 
of  rain-water  setting  under  a  gutter-spout,  and 
into  this  water  Ginny  Babe  ducked  the  hen  vi 
ciously  a  number  of  times. 

She  tossed  the  hen  on  the  ground,  where  it  lay 
gasping  for  air  and  half  drowned. 

Skeeter  sat  and  cackled  like  another  hen. 

"Shut  up,  you  little  devil!"  Ginny  Babe 
squalled.  "I'll  ketch  you  an'  do  you  de  same 
way!" 

"Whut  ails  de  hen,  Ginny?"  Skeeter  laughed. 

"She  wants  to  sot,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  eggs  to  put 
under  her,"  Ginny  whooped.  "I  locked  her  up 
in  de  wood-house  an'  she  foun'  a  ole  china  door 
knob  an'  sot  on  dat.  I  put  her  in  de  corn-crib  an' 
she  sot  down  on  a  lot  of  corn-cobs  an'  tried  to  hatch 
'em  out.  I's  ducked  her  in  dat  barrel  of  water 
'bout  fo'teen  times,  an'  it  ain't  done  no  good 
whatsumever.  I  never  did  see  such  a  fool!" 

"Why  don't  you  try  on  somepin  else?"  Skeeter 
giggled. 


Hoodoo  Face  353 

"Whut's  dat?"  Ginny  whooped. 

"Pour  a  leetle  coal-ile  on  her  tail  an'  sot  it  on 
fire,"  Skeeter  snickered.  "I  figger  she  won't  sot 
no  more  atter  dat. " 

"By  gosh,  I'll  do  it!"  Ginny  Babe  howled. 

She  walked  over  and  pushed  the  hen  with  her 
foot. 

"You  don't  git  no  coal-ile  on  yo'  tail  yit!"  she 
bellowed.  "But  as  soon  as  dem  feathers  gits  dry, 
I  got  a  good  mind  to  try  it!" 

Skeeter  looked  at  Ginny  Babe  Chew,  and  a  cold 
chill  ran  down  his  spine.  She  was  the  one  woman 
in  Tickfall  of  whom  every  negro  was  afraid.  She 
was  a  wicked,  vicious,  horrible  old  woman,  whose 
little,  green  pig  eyes  glowed  poisonously  through 
the  rolls  of  facial  flesh.  She  possessed  an  ugly  and 
venomous  laugh,  and  generally  ended  her  profane 
and  vicious  remarks  with  an  irritating  chuckle. 

Ginny  knew  the  history  of  all  the  people  in  Tick- 
fall  parish,  both  white  and  black,  and  most  of  her 
conversation  on  ordinary  occasions  was  a  discus 
sion  of  their  characters.  She  especially  loved  to 
drive  nails  in  the  coffins  of  moribund  reputations. 

Now  she  sat  down  heavily  and  began  a  conver 
sation  upon  her  favorite  theme. 

1 '  I  done  wucked  in  de  house  of  eve'y  white  man 
in  dis  parish  whut  is  able  to  hire  he'p, "  she  bawled. 
1 '  I  knows  all  de  f ambly  secrets,  an'  I  done  got  my 
little,  bullet  eye  on  all  de  f  ambly  skelingtons.  Fs 
made  acquaintance  wid  all  de  niggers  in  dis  parish, 
too,  an'  I  tells  you  dis — some  niggers  is  bad,  an' 
yuther  niggers  is  wusser;  but  dar  ain't  no  good 

23 


354  Hoodoo  Face 

niggers,  livin'  or  dead !  I  knows  'em !  So  I  spends 
my  happy  old  age  findin'  out  all  de  bad  I  kin  about 
'em!" 

"Yes'm,"  Skeeter  gasped,  looking  at  her  with 
frightened  eyes. 

"All  you  niggers  in  Tickf all— whoof ! "  the  old 
woman  exploded. 

"I  hopes  we  is  as  good  as  most  niggers, "  Skeeter 
said  timidly. 

"Whoof!"  the  old  woman  exploded  again. 
"Does  you  want  me  to  tell  you  whut  I  knows 
about  you,  Skeeter  Butts?" 

"Per  Gawd's  sake,  no'm!"  Skeeter  quavered. 
"My  memory  is  powerful  good. " 

The  woman's  fat  body  shook  with  silent  laughter 
and  her  little  pig  eyes  glowed  like  emeralds.  She 
laid  a  heavy,  fat  hand  on  Skeeter's  knee. 

'Ts  got  a  hoodoo  face,  Skeeter!"  she  bawled. 
"When  a  nigger  looks  at  my  fat  mug,  all  de  mean 
ness  in  him  comes  right  out  on  his  face  so  I  kin 
read  it  like  de  white  folks  reads  a  book.  Yes,  suh, 
I  got  a  hoodoo  face!"  _ 

While  Skeeter  Butts  sat  beside  her  and  trembled, 
wondering  what  to  say,  and  very  much  wishing 
himself  somewhere  else,  Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky 
Sugg  came  around  to  the  side  of  the  house  where 
they  were  sitting. 

"You  want  me  to  cornfess  yo'  sins  fer  you, 
Dinner  Gaze?"  Ginny  Babe  howled,  turning  her 
green  eyes  upon  him. 

"You  don't  know  nothin'."  Dinner  asserted, 
gazing  at  her  with  his  beady  eyes  without  a  trace 


Hoodoo  Face  355 

of  fear,  his  black,  dough-like  face  as  expressionless 
as  when  Hitch  Diamond  had  first  seen  it. 

"Whoof!"  the  old  woman  exploded  the  third 
time.  Shifting  her  mountainous  fat  to  her  feet 
and  standing  up,  she  glared  at  Dinner  Gaze  in  a 
perfect  fury;  then,  to  Skeeter's  surprise,  her  voice 
changed  completely  from  its  bellowing  tone  to  an 
intonation  as  soft  as  Dinner's  own.  She  muttered 
aloud,  looking  at  Dinner  with  intent  gaze  as  if  she 
were  seeing  him  for  the  first  time: 

"Naw,  suh,  I  don't  know  nothin'  agin  you!" 

' '  I  gambles  f er  a  livin' , ' '  Dinner  grinned.  ' '  Dat 
ain't  no  highbrow  job.  I  follers  de  races  an'  hangs 
aroun'  prize-fighters,  an'  drinks  a  little  booze  an' 
plays  a  little  craps  an'  coon-can,  but  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  to  hide  from  nobody." 

"Dar  now!"  Ginny  whooped  in  a  triumphant 
voice.  "  Didn't  I  jes'  tole  you  dat  I  had  a  hoodoo 
face?  Nobody  kin  look  at  me  an'  hide  deir  sins!" 

"I  ain't  allowin'  nobody  to  low-rate  me, 
neither,"  Tucky  Sugg  proclaimed.  "You  wanter 
cornfess  my  sins,  Sister  Ginny?" 

Ginny  broke  out  into  a  loud,  whooping  laugh. 
"You  ain't  got  no  sins,  Tucky,"  she  guffawed. 
"You  ain't  nothin'  but  a  idjut — an'  no  limb  didn't 
fall  on  you,  neither.  You  was  nachel-bawned  dat 
way.  Idjuts  ain't  responsible!" 

Chuckling  to  herself,  she  picked  up  her  fast- 
reviving  hen,  carried  it  back  to  a  large  hen-house 
on  the  other  side  of  her  home,  and  threw  it  inside 
the  door.  Closing  the  door  she  waddled  back,  and 
waved  a  fat  hand  at  the  three  men.  "Don't 


356  Hoodoo  Face 

fergit  dat  Ginny's  got  a  hoodoo  face,  niggers!" 
she  bawled. 

"Huh ! "  Dinner  Gaze  grunted.  " Listen  to  dat 
ole  fat  fool!" 

"Come  on,  niggers,"  Tucky  Sugg  said  in  a  dis 
gusted  tone.  "  Less  git  away  from  dis  place. " 

As  the  three  men  walked  down  the  street, 
Skeeter  said:  "Dinner,  is  you  ever  had  any  expe'- 
unce  'tendin'  bar?" 

"Yes,  suh." 

"Would  you  wish  to  he'p  Pap  Curtain  take  keer 
of  my  saloom  fer  de  nex'  ten  days?"  he  asked 
next. 

"It'll  suit  me  fine,"  Dinner  told  him. 

They  discussed  the  business  for  a  little  while, 
then  Skeeter  left  them  at  the  next  corner. 

"I  leaves  it  wid  you  an'  Pap,  Dinner,"  Skeeter 
said.  ' '  I  needs  a  leetle  rest  an'  I's  gwine  to  trabbel 


some." 


XIV 

SKEETER  STARTS  A  BLAZE. 

For  the  next  four  days  Pap  Curtain  and  Dinner 
Gaze  tended  bar  in  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  for 
Skeeter  Butts. 

Vinegar  Atts  and  Tucky  Sugg  started  a  pro 
tracted  meeting  in  the  old  Shoofly  Church  which 
was  attended  by  throngs  who  listened  with  bated 
breath  to  Vinegar's  bawling  exhortations  to  right 
eousness  based  upon  the  horrible  example  of  Hitch 


Hoodoo  Face  357 

Diamond,  who  found  himself  in  a  predicament 
where  there  was  "no  hope." 

Meanwhile  Skeeter  went  to  New  Orleans,  and 
to  Sawtown.  He  tracked  Hitch  Diamond  from 
the  moment  he  left  Tickfall  to  go  to  the  prize 
fight  until  he  returned  to  Tickfall,  bareheaded, 
barefooted,  with  his  hands  manacled  behind  him, 
and  under  the  escort  of  the  officers  of  the  law. 

In  both  places  he  dodged  Sheriff  John  Flournoy, 
who  was  also  conducting  an  investigation.  Both 
were  on  the  same  mission,  and  Skeeter  saw  Flour 
noy  a  dozen  times  at  different  places. 

Skeeter  and  Flournoy  returned  to  Tickfall, 
crushed  and  hopeless,  appalled  at  the  array  of 
evidence  which  Hitch  Diamond  had  to  confront 
at  his  coming  trial.  It  was  not  a  pretense,  but  a 
fact,  that  Hitch  Diamond  had  no  hope. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  Skeeter  climbed 
wearily  off  the  train  at  Tickfall  and  started  up  the 
street  toward  Dirty-Six.  He  overtook  Sheriff 
John  Flournoy  walking  slowly  up  the  street. 

"Whut  is  Hitch's  chances  now,  Marse  John?" 
he  asked. 

"He  has  none,"  Flournoy  replied.  "There  is 
no  longer  a  shadow  of  doubt  in  my  mind  that  Hitch 
Diamond  committed  the  crime  with  which  he  is 
charged." 

"Yes,  suh,  dat's  de  way  it  looks, "  Skeeter  agreed 
sadly.  He  dropped  behind,  stopped,  and  let  the 
sheriff  go  on  alone.  He  stood  leaning  against  a 
fence  for  a  while,  wondering  what  to  do  next. 
Finally  he  said  to  himself: 


358  Hoodoo  Face 

"I's  gwine  to  Ginny  Babe  Chew's  cabin  an* 
narrate  her  all  I  is  found  out.  Mebbe  dat  ole 
hoodoo  face  kin  see  mo'  hope  dan  I  kin." 

He  passed  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  and  peeped 
into  the  window,  where  he  saw  Pap  and  Dinner 
Gaze  playing  cards  at  a  small  table.  He  passed 
the  Shoofly  Church,  where  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Vinegar  Atts  bellowing  like  a  lost  cow.  On  the 
edge  of  the  settlement  he  entered  the  yard  of 
Ginny  Babe  Chew's  home,  and  found  Dainty 
sitting  alone  upon  the  porch. 

Ginny  Babe  was  in  the  hen-house  rendering 
profane  ministrations  to  the  same  old  hen  which 
was  still  of  a  mind  to  brood,  whether  there  was 
anything  to  hatch  or  not. 

That  hen  had  entertained  Ginny  Babe  for  a 
week.  She  had  exhausted  every  known  method  to 
break  up  the  fowl's  desire  to  "set,"  dousing  it  in 
water,  ducking  it  in  ashes,  tying  a  long  red  trailer 
of  wool  to  its  feet,  and  other  things  of  that  general 
nature.  Now  she  stood  growling  profanity,  won 
dering  what  else  she  could  do  to  the  obstinate  old 
biddy. 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  the  suggestion  made  by 
Skeeter  Butts:  "Pour  coal-ile  on  her  tail  an'  sot 
her  on  fire!" 

She  picked  up  an  old  rag  lying  in  the  yard, 
wrapped  it  around  the  squawking  hen's  tail,  car 
ried  the  fowl  to  the  back  porch,  where  she  found 
an  oil-can,  and  saturated  the  rag  well  with  the 
petroleum. 

Then  she  struck  a  match  and  set  the  rag  afire. 


Hoodoo  Face  359 

The  startled  hen  fluttered  out  of  her  arms,  ran 
straight  into  the  hen-house,  shed  the  oil-soaked, 
blazing  rag  with  most  of  her  tail  feathers,  and  ran 
out  of  the  hen-house  into  the  high  weeds. 

But  the  burning  rag  left  in  the  hen-house  got 
busy  with  the  loose  straw  and  the  other  dry 
trash,  and  in  a  moment  the  whole  house  was  in  a 
blaze ! 

Ginny  was  famous  for  the  noise  she  could  make 
with  her  throat.  Her  very  name  was  a  perversion 
of  the  word  for  that  noisy  hen  the  guinea,  and 
from  her  earliest  childhood  this  word  had  been 
indicative  of  her  chief  faculty.  But  on  this  oc 
casion  she  broke  all  previous  records  for  racket. 

'Tire!    Fire!    Fire!"  she  began. 

What  she  said  after  that  and  the  noises  she 
made  cannot  enter  into  this  narrative  because 
they  cannot  be  reproduced  in  print. 

The  dry  grass,  the  straw,  the  inflammable 
trash,  the  dusty  accumulations  of  years,  due  to 
Ginny's  idea  that  the  way  to  clean  up  her  yard 
was  to  sweep  everything  inside  the  hen-house — all 
was  afire  and  blazing  merrily. 

Skeeter  and  Dainty  heard  her  wails  and  ran 
around  the  house.  Then  Skeeter  grabbed  a  tree 
with  both  hands,  spread  his  alligator  mouth  to  its 
utmost  limit,  and  laughed  himself  into  hysterics. 

The  portion  of  Tickfall  occupied  by  the  whites 
had  water-works,  and  adequate  fire  protection. 
The  negro  settlement  known  as  Dirty-Six  had  no 
water,  but  was  protected  from  fire  by  a  chemical 
engine.  There  was  a  fire-engine  house,  a  pole 


360  Hoodoo  Face 

beside  it  with  a  bell  on  top,  and  a  rope  susoended 
from  the  bell  within  reach  of  the  hand. 

When  the  engine-house  was  first  erected  four 
years  before,  the  negroes  had  waited  rather  im 
patiently  for  some  one's  house  to  catch  on  fire. 
They  wanted  to  see  their  new  engine  in  operation. 
Nothing  caught  fire,  not  even  a  chicken-coop. 
For  four  years  the  bell  at  the  engine-house  had  not 
been  rung. 

Then,  on  some  occasion  which  called  for  a  cele 
bration  on  the  part  of  the  negroes,  they  had  asked 
and  had  been  given  permission  to  take  the  chemi 
cal  wagon  out,  attach  the  hose,  and  sprinkle  the 
street,  merely  to  show  that  the  hose  would  actually 
squirt  water  and  the  engine  pump  it. 

After  the  celebration  the  apparatus  was  dragged 
back  and  placed  in  the  engine-house,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  Dirty-Six  resumed  their  watchful 
waiting. 

Now  the  cry  of  "Fire!"  echoed  through  the 
settlement. 

It  was  caught  up  on  every  corner.  Negroes 
seized  their  shotguns  and  pistols  and  ran  down 
the  street,  firing  them  into  the  air — the  fire-signal 
in  all  Southern  villages. 

Vinegar  Atts,  standing  in  the  pulpit  of  the 
Shoofly  Church,  paused  in  the  midst  of  a  fiery 
exhortation,  listened  to  the  cry  of  "Fire!"  ringing 
through  the  settlement. 

"Fire!"  Vinegar  bellowed,  and  started  in  a 
lope  for  the  street,  leading  all  the  congregation  in 
the  race.  They,  with  the  other  inhabitants  of 


Hoodoo  Face  361 

Dirty-Six,  gladly  assembled,  not  at  the  scene  of  the 
fire,  but  at  the  engine-house! 

"Ring  de  bell!"  a  hundred  voices  bawled. 

The  bell-rope  was  gone.  Some  little  piccaninny 
had  needed  a  rope  to  tie  his  dog  and  had  helped 
himself. 

Two  or  three  boys  tried  to  climb  the  post  and 
ring  the  bell,  but  they  could  not  reach  it. 

"Open  de  door  an'  fotch  out  de  engyne!"  the 
crowd  whooped. 

Forty  men  ran  their  hands  into  their  pockets 
and  brought  them  out  empty.  They  did  not  have 
the  key  to  the  door.  They  had  never  had  the  key. 
The  action  was  mechanical  and  unconscious. 

Who  had  the  key?  No  one  knew.  It  had  been 
two  years  since  any  one  had  entered  the  building. 
The  door  was  locked  and  the  key  was  lost. 

"Bust  de  door  down!"  was  the  next  call  from 
the  crowd. 

Strong  shoulders  were  pressed  against  the 
fragile  door,  and  the  crash  of  its  timbers  was 
answered  by  the  shouts  of  the  people  and  the  on 
rush  of  the  crowd.  They  laid  hold  upon  the  rope 
and  pulled  the  machine  to  the  scene  of  the  fire. 

Down  the  alley  by  the  side  of  the  house  they 
ran,  broke  down  the  fence  and  pulled  the  machine 
into  the  yard.  With  many  shouts  they  unwound 
the  hose,  attached  it  to  the  engine,  turned  the 
faucets  and  began  to  pump. 

From  the  hose  came  a  long  whistling  sound  of 
air: 

"Whee-ee-ee-e!" 


362  Hoodoo  Face 

Not  a  drop  of  chemical  water.  The  celebration 
two  years  before  had  exhausted  the  chemical,  and 
the  engine  had  never  been  recharged.  The  hen 
house  burned  without  interruption. 

Ginny  Babe  Chew  turned  toward  that  crowd  of 
heroic  negro  firemen,  and  the  pumps  of  her  pro 
fanity  worked  without  a  hitch  as  she  poured  out  a 
stream  of  sulphurous  and  vitriolic  language  upon 
their  luckless  heads.  Skeeter  Butts  still  hung 
to  the  tree  with  both  hands,  laughing  with  whoops 
like  a  yelling  Comanche. 

The  firemen  laid  hold  upon  their  chemical  ma 
chine  and^dragged  it  out  of  the  yard. 

Suddenly  Skeeter's  laughter  ended  with  a  gurgle 
of  choked  surprise.  With  his  mouth  still  open 
wide,  he  gazed  upward  at  a  little  dormer  window 
which  looked  out  of  the  attic  of  Ginny  Babe  Chew's 
home.  Slowly  his  hair  rose  up  on  his  head,  and 
cold  chills  ran  down  his  spine. 

The  light  reflected  from  the  burning  hen-house 
clearly  revealed  a  male  human  face  at  the  dormer 
window! 

The  man  was  looking  down  into  the  yard,  watch 
ing  the  crowd,  watching  the  fire,  and  at  times 
grinning  at  something  he  saw.  Skeeter  watched 
that  face  for  two  or  three  minutes;  its  clear  out 
lines  were  stamped  indelibly  upon  his  mind.  He 
had  never  seen  the  negro  before ! 

Then  he  sprang  to  the  side  of  Vinegar  Atts  and 
squalled : 

"Come  on  up-stairs  wid  me,  Vinegar — quick!" 

The  two  ran  into  the  house.     Skeeter  took  his 


Hoodoo  Face  363 

automatic  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  leading  the 
way,  ran  up  the  little,  narrow  stairs  which  led  to 
the  attic.  They  pushed  open  the  -door  of  the 
room  and  entered. 

The  room  was  empty ! 

Skeeter  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  just 
as  he  had  seen  the  strange  negro  do.  Instantly  the 
fat  face  of  Ginny  Babe  Chew  was  raised  to  the 
window,  her  green  pig  eyes  glowed  malevolently, 
and  her  fat  fists  were  clenched  and  raised  in  male 
diction. 

"Come  out  of  dat  attic,  you  little  yellow-faced 
debbil!"  she  whooped.  "I'll  bust  yo'  neck!" 

XV 

COUNSEL  FOR  THE  DEFENSE. 

On  the  first  Tuesday  in  September  the  open 
spaces  in  front  and  on  the  sides  of  the  Tickf  all  court 
house  filled  up  early  with  a  crowd  of  negroes.  It 
was  the  occasion  of  the  opening  of  the  criminal 
term  of  the  district  court,  and  all  witnesses  and 
talesmen  were  called  to  court  for  the  trial  of  Hitch 
Diamond,  charged  with  murder,  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  commonwealth  of  Louisiana 
and  the  statutes  made  and  provided. 

The  witnesses  and  talesmen  already  sat  in  the 
court-room,  along  with  as  many  other  people, 
mostly  colored,  as  could  squeeze  in  there.  Even 
now,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  heat  of 
that  ill-ventilated  room  was  stifling,  the  odor  was 


364  Hoodoo  Face 

overpowering.  Men  sat  on  the  bench  seats,  on  the 
back  of  the  benches,  on  the  ledges  of  the  windows ; 
they  stood  in  the  aisles,  in  the  corridors,  on  the 
stainvays,  and  were  ranged  in  rows  along  the  soiled 
and  dusty  walls. 

Inside  the  low  railing  which  divided  the  room, 
and  nearest  to  the  chairs  which  the  jurors  were  to 
occupy,  Hitch  Diamond  sat  at  a  long  table  with 
Goldie  Curtain  by  his  side.  In  that  crowd  of 
people,  either  white  or  black,  Goldie  was  the  one 
splotch  of  vivid  coloring — her  face  and  hands  and 
neck  a  beautiful  orange  in  color,  and  her  half-caste 
beauty  most  striking  and  attractive.  Hitch  sat 
beside  the  table  as  stolid  and  indifferent  as  a 
wooden  man,  but  Goldie  trembled,  her  nervous 
ringers  plaited  in  and  out  of  each  other  like  squirm 
ing  snakes;  she  was  scared  and  shrinking,  pitiable 
and  lonely. 

Just  outside  the  low  railing  sat  Ginny  Babe 
Chew  and  Dinner  Gaze,  directly  behind  the  broad 
back  of  Hitch  Diamond.  Ginny  slowly  slapped 
at  her  fat  face  with  a  turkey- wing  fan.  Her  big 
mouth  was  clamped  shut  like  a  steel  trap,  and  her 
little  green,  greedy,  pig  eyes  glared  through  the 
rolls  of  facial  fat  with  baleful,  condemning  gaze 
upon  everything  and  everybody  around  her. 

A  little  farther  away  from  Hitch,  but  on  the 
same  front  seat  with  Ginny  Chew  and  Dinner 
Gaze,  sat  the  Reverend  Vinegar  Atts  and  Tucky 
Sugg. 

There  was  a  window  behind  the  jury-box,  so 
that  the  light  falling  over  the  heads  of  the  jurors 


Hoodoo  Face  365 

would  fall  full  upon  the  faces  of  the  witnesses  as 
they  sat  in  the  chair,  and  would  illumine  every  line 
in  the  faces  of  the  lawyers  as  they  presented  their 
sides  to  the  jury. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  there  was 
another  window,  and  within  this  window,  sitting 
precariously  on  the  ledge,  was  Pap  Curtain.  He 
had  asked  and  obtained  permission  from  Sheriff 
Flournoy  to  sit  within  the  bar  on  the  ground  that 
it  was  his  son-in-law  who  was  being  tried  for  his 
life. 

Across  from  Hitch  Diamond  the  district  attor 
ney  sat  at  another  long  table  to  represent  the 
cause  of  the  State.  Tall,  urbane,  white-haired, 
with  the  reputation  of  being  a  pitiless  prosecutor  of 
criminals,  Dan  Davazec  was  confident  and  jaunty. 
He  fussed  about  busily,  arranging  and  rearranging 
the  table  in  front  of  him,  shoving  aside  the  water- 
pitcher,  the  ink-bottle,  a  pile  of  law-books  with 
freckled-leather  covers,  as  a  battleship  strips  her 
decks  for  action. 

"It's  a  cinch,  Sam,"  he  chuckled  to  the  editor 
of  the  Tickfall  Whoop.  "Dead  open-and-shut!" 

Davazec  had  tried  in  vain  to  find  a  wife,  or 
mother,  or  sisters  of  the  night-watchman  for  whose 
murder  Hitch  Diamond  was  to  be  tried.  He 
wanted  somebody  to  lend  force  and  eloquence  to 
his  plea  by  sitting  before  the  jury  dressed  in  black 
and  wearing  a  long,  thick  mourning  veil.  But 
the  murdered  man  apparently  had  no  kinsmen,  so 
Davazec  lacked  these  eloquent  figures  of  desolation 
and  sorrow. 


366  Hoodoo  Face 

But  the  two  owners  of  the  Sawtown  mill  sat  at 
the  table  beside  Davazec,  and  the  room  in  the  rear 
of  the  judge's  bench  was  crowded  with  witnesses. 
Davazec  felt  the  importance  of  his  place  and  the 
certain  triumph  of  his  cause,  and  he  swelled  and 
expanded  in  his  clothes  at  the  thought  of  how 
helpful  this  day's  proceedings  would  be  to  him 
when  he  announced  himself  for  reelection. 

From  his  office  in  the  rear  the  judge  entered  the 
court-room,  followed  by  a  clerk  bearing  a  few  law- 
books  and  some  sheets  of  paper  and  a  large  palm- 
leaf  fan.  Judge  Haddan  was  a  pale,  sickly  looking 
man  with  a  weak  voice,  trembling  hands,  and 
stooped  shoulders.  But  his  head  was  massive  and 
Websterian,  and  his  eyes  glowed  like  the  eyes  of 
some  jungle  beast.  No  man  within  the  borders 
of  the  State  commanded  more  respect  as  a  lawyer 
and  a  jurist. 

Hitch  Diamond  raised  his  massive  head  and 
eyed  the  judge  with  the  stolid  gaze  of  a  stupid 
horse.  Goldie  gasped,  and  laced  and  interlaced 
her  nervous  ringers  in  her  lap. 

The  opening  ceremonies  of  the  court  were  soon 
over.  No  one  paid  any  attention  to  the  few  for 
malities,  for  they  were  all  hastening  to  get  at  the 
thing  of  big  interest. 

The  clerk  called  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth 
versus  Hitch  Diamond. 

"We  are  ready,  your  honor, "  Dan  Davazec  said 
in  his  clear  voice. 

"Where  is  your  counsel,  Hitch  Diamond?" 
Judge  Haddan  asked. 


Hoodoo  Face  367 

"I  ain't  got  none,  boss,"  Hitch  answered. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  assign  you  counsel?" 
Haddan  inquired. 

Hitch  stood  up  and  scratched  his  woolly  head. 

"Boss, "  he  said,  in  a  sad  tone,  "one  time  when 
yo'  leetle  gal  got  sick  an'  you  lived  out  on  yo' 
plantation  in  de  country,  I  done  you  a  leetle  favor. 
Does  you  remember,  boss?" 

Haddan  looked  straight  at  Hitch  Diamond  while 
his  nervous  fingers  drummed  upon  the  arms  of  his 
chair.  He  seemed  not  to  have  heard  what  Hitch 
had  said. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  assign  you  counsel?"  he 
asked  again. 

"Boss,"  Hitch  continued,  "when  yo'  little  gal 
got  sick,  de  water  had  done  riz  up  an'  de  Dorfoche 
Bayou  wus  seben  miles  wide — an'  you  axed  me  to 
go  atter  de  dorctor.  I  waded  an'  swum  dat  bayou 
— I  got  acrost  dat  seben  mile  of  water — I  fotch  de 
dorctor — an'  yo'  little  gal  got  well.  Boss,  you  tole 
me  den,  dat  ef  I  ever  needed  any  he'p,  you  would 
he'p  me  at  any  cost — an'  boss,  befo'  Gawd,  now  is 
yo  time!" 

Hitch  Diamond  sat  down  at  the  table. 

Involuntarily  Judge  Haddan  looked  at  the 
State's  attorney;  their  eyes  met,  and  Davazec 
murmured,  "Don't  that  nigger  beat  hell!" 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  assign  counsel  for  you, 
Hitch?"  Judge  Haddan  asked  for  the  third 
time. 

"Naw,  suh,  boss!"  Hitch  said.  "I  think  you 
an'  me  had  better  law  dis  case  togedder!" 


368  Hoodoo  Face 

"Do  you  plead  guilty  or  not  guilty?"  Haddan 
asked. 

Hitch  grinned. 

"Ain't  dat  jes'  whut  we  is  come  to  try,  boss?" 
he  asked. 

"The  defendant  pleads  not  guilty!"  Judge 
Haddan  announced  with  an  amused  grimace  at 
the  State's  attorney. 

Then  the  clerk  called  the  name  of  a  talesman. 

In  an  hour  the  jury  was  complete.  Hitch 
Diamond  left  that  work  entirely  in  the  hands  of 
Dan  Davazec  and  Judge  Haddan.  Whenever  the 
judge  excused  a  talesman  from  service,  Hitch 
smiled,  and  felt  that  the  judge  was  certainly 
winning  the  case  for  him ! 

Then  for  two  hours  the  crowded  court-room  of 
people  sat  in  breathless  silence,  while  District 
Attorney  Davazec  drove  nail  after  nail  into  the 
gallows  which  should  hang  Hitch  Diamond.  It 
was  a  savage  and  pitiless  prosecution,  not  because 
of  the  efforts  of  Davazec,  but  because  of  the  force 
of  the  testimony,  developing  a  chain  of  evidence 
without  a  weak  or  missing  link.  The  jurors,  grim, 
silent,  attentive,  fixed  their  eyes  upon  each  wit 
ness,  and  when  the  witness-chair  was  empty,  they 
looked  down  at  the  floor. 

Not  one  of  them  glanced  at  Hitch  Diamond. 
Jurymen  don't  like  to  watch  a  man  whom  they  are 
making  up  their  minds  to  condemn  to  death. 

Hitch  listened  to  the  evidence  without  a  word 
or  question  to  a  single  witness.  If  Judge  Haddan 
asked  a  question,  Hitch  grinned.  He  seemed 


Hoodoo  Face  369 

never  to  comprehend  the  effect  of  the  statements 
that  were  being  made. 

Dan  Davazec  arose  and  announced  with  dra 
matic  emphasis: 

"Your  honor,  the  State  closes!" 

The  crowd  in  the  court-room  drew  a  long  breath ; 
a  humming  murmur  like  a  breeze  in  the  tree-tops 
swept  over  the  heads  of  the  people. 

Hitch  Diamond  arose. 

"Boss,"  he  announced  to  the  judge,  "Mister 
Danny  Davazec  is  shore  done  hisse'f  proud,  an'  all 
dem  white  men  is  tole  de  truth — as  fur  as  dey 
knows  it.  I  closes  up  de  State's  case,  too!" 

A  snicker  sounded  from  the  rear  benches,  where 
an  assortment  of  white  toughs  and  loafers  had  con 
gregated  for  gratuitous  entertainment. 

The  jury  stared  at  the  floor. 

XVI 

WITNESS  FOR  THE  DEFENSE. 

"Have  you  any  witnesses,  Hitch? "Judge  Had- 
dan  inquired,  nervously  mopping  at  his  temples 
with  a  handkerchief. 

1 '  Yes,  suh.  I  wants  to  'terrogate  Skeeter  Butts, 
please,  suh." 

There  was  a  slight  movement  in  the  crowd  in 
the  rear  of  the  court-room,  and  Skeeter  came  for 
ward  and  pushed  open  the  little  gate  in  the  low 
railing,  which,  like  a  river  levee,  held  back  an  over 
flow  of  black  people. 
24 


37°  Hoodoo  Face 

lie  had  moved  slowly  through  the  crowd,  proud 
of  being  called  as  a  witness,  ostentatiously  speak 
ing  to  every  colored  person  he  knew,  and  bowing 
with  fine  courtesy  to  every  white  face. 

Respectably  dressed,  and  extremely  respectful 
in  his  manner,  Skeeter  came  to  the  witness  stand 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  knew  exactly  how  to  act 
in  the  company  of  white  folks. 

The  jurors  straightened  up  in  their  seats,  looking 
at  Skeeter  with  interest,  wondering  what  light  he 
could  bring  to  brighten  the  black  cloud  which  hung 
over  the  defendant.  Skeeter  noted  the  move 
ment  and  bowed. 

"Mawnin',  gen'lemens!"  he  murmured. 

At  the  admonition  of  the  judge,  Skeeter  held 
up  his  right  hand,  a  clerk  rattled  off  a  string  of 
words  which  Skeeter  could  not  understand,  and 
Skeeter  dropped  his  hand. 

"  Thank  'e,  suh ! "  he  said. 

Then,  for  the  first  time  during  the  trial,  Hitch 
Diamond  came  to  life. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  picked  up  the  heavy  table 
against  which  he  had  been  leaning,  and  set  it 
entirely  out  of  his  way  by  placing  it  so  close  to  the 
witness  stand  that  Skeeter  Butts  could  have  reached 
out  his  foot  from  the  chair  and  stepped  on  it. 

A  heavy  iron  cuspidor  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
space  which  Hitch  was  clearing  for  himself,  so  he 
set  it  out  of  his  way.  After  that  he  moved  two 
heavy  chairs. 

Suddenly  Sheriff  John  Flournoy  woke  up! 

It   looked    to    him   like   Hitch    Diamond    had 


Hoodoo  Face  371 

cleared  a  space  for  himself  clear  across  the  court 
room  in  front  of  the  judge  to  the  open  window 
where  Pap  Curtain,  Hitch's  father-in-law,  was  sit 
ting.  He  noticed  that  Pap  Curtain  had  slipped 
off  the  window  ledge  and  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  window,  one  hand  stretched  out  on 
either  side. 

Hitch  was  getting  ready  to  run ! 

As  quietly  as  possible,  Sheriff  Flournoy  slipped 
across  the  platform  behind  the  judge's  seat  and 
stationed  himself  .near  the  window  where  Pap 
Curtain  stood. 

Pap  smiled  and  nodded  knowingly. 

"Dat's  right,  Marse  John,"  he  grinned,  as  he 
waved  his  hand  toward  Hitch  Diamond.  "Git 
a  good  ready !  Dat  Tickfall  Tiger  is  gwine  scratch 
somebody's  back!" 

Having  completed  his  preparations,  Hitch  Dia 
mond  turned  to  his  star  witness. 

"Whut  am  yo'  name,  Skeeter  Butts?"  he 
bellowed. 

Skeeter  got  mad  and  began  to  swell  up. 

"You  done  called  me  by  my  name! "  he  snapped. 

"Tell  de  white  folks  whut  is  yo'  name,  Skeeter!" 
Hitch  growled.  "Mebbe  dey  is  seed  yo'  favor 
but  disremember  de  name  of  yo'  face!" 

"Skeeter  Butts!"  the  witness  replied  grumpily. 

"Does  you  know  who  kilt  dat  night-watchman 
down  at  Sawtown?"  Hitch  asked. 

"Suttinly." 

"Was  you  dar  when  it  happened?"  Hitch 
inquired. 


372  Hoodoo  Face 

"Naw,  suh." 

"Was  it  me  whut  done  it?"  Hitch  bellowed. 

"Naw,  suh,"  Skeeter  answered  positively. 

"Who  done  it?"  Hitch  Diamond  howled. 

Skeeter  hitched  himself  forward  until  he  sat 
upon  the  extreme  edge  of  the  witness  chair.  He 
hung  his  brown  derby  hat  upon  the  first  finger 
of  his  left  hand  and  turned  it  round  and  round 
with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  his  right  hand.  He 
stared  at  the  table  which  Hitch  had  lifted  and 
placed  before  him. 

The  members  of  the  jury  suddenly  sat  up  and 
took  notice. 

They  had  known  negroes  all  their  lives ;  they  had 
had  negro  playmates  when  they  were  boys;  and 
now  they  "read  sign"  on  Skeeter.  They  knew 
Skeeter  was  going  to  explode  something.  Their 
backbones  stiffened  in  their  chairs  as  if  the  mar 
row  had  suddenly  turned  to  rigid  steel. 

"Who— done^-it?"   Hitch  Diamond  bellowed. 

Skeeter  pushed  himself  back  in  his  chair.  His 
little  brown  derby  hat  fell  from  his  finger,  rattled 
and  bounced  in  a  ridiculous  fashion  across  the 
table  before  him,  fell  to  the  floor  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  on  the  curved  crown. 

Skeeter  stretched  out  his  hand  with  two  middle 
fingers  and  the  thumb  flexed,  and  the  first  finger 
and  the  little  finger  extended  in  such  a  way  that  he 
pointed  at  the  same  time  with  one  gesture  to  two 
men  sitting  in  different  parts  of  the  court-room. 
Then  he  answered: 

"Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg!" 


Hoodoo  Face  373 

Judge  Haddan  slumped  forward  in  his  chair,  his 
delicate,  fragile  hands  gripping  the  edge  of  the  desk 
before  him.  The  district  attorney,  a  man  who 
generally  possessed  perfect  poise  and  self-posses 
sion,  was  jerked  to  his  feet  by  this  announcement 
and  stood  in  absolute  silence  waving  his  hands  to 
and  fro  like  an  embarrassed  schoolboy  who  had 
suddenly  forgotten  how  to  " speak  his  piece." 
The  jury  sank  back  in  their  chairs  with  a  low  sigh 
of  gratification.  They  had  tuned  their  ears  for  the 
sound  of  an  explosion,  and  the  effect  had  produced 
a  pleasant  shock. 

Silence  in  the  court-room,  a  silence  appalling. 

Hitch  Diamond,  who  had  been  standing  like  a 
statue  carved  from  ebony,  slowly  turned  and  faced 
the  crowd  of  black  men  sitting  behind  him. 

Then  a  voice  cracked  the  silence  like  a  starter's 
pistol  shot  over  the  backs  of  two  men  straining  for 
a  race ;  it  was  the  voice  of  Ginny  Babe  Chew : 

"Bar— now!" 

In  the  twenty  seconds  which  had  elapsed  since 
Skeeter  made  his  astounding  statement,  Dinner 
Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg  had  both  considered  the 
chances  and  the  avenues  of  escape,  as  well  as  the 
possibility  of  remaining  in  their  places  and  protest 
ing  innocence  of  the  charge.  Ginny  Babe  Chew's 
triumphant  exclamation  decided  the  issue. 

The  low  railing  around  the  bar  was  directly 
before  them.  They  sprang  forward  to  clear  it,  and 
lo!  Vinegar  Atts  was  swinging  to  Tucky  Sugg's 
coat-tail,  and  Ginny  Babe  Chew  was  hanging  to 
the  coat-tail  of  Dinner  Gaze! 


374  Hoodoo  Face 

In  an  instant  each  man  had  slipped  his  arms 
out  of  his  coat  and  was  free.  They  leaped  the  rail 
ing,  standing  in  the  open  space  which  Hitch 
Diamond  had  so  ostentatiously  cleared. 

Under  their  coats,  the  two  men  carried  pistol 
holsters,  and  now  they  stood  with  their  backs 
against  the  wall  beside  the  judge's  bench,  at  bay, 
each  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

There  was  confusion  for  about  ten  seconds 
while  the  court-room  cleared  of  its  occupants.  It 
took  just  that  long  for  all  to  get  out  who  wanted 
to  go.  That  was  sufficient  time  for  some  eager 
ones  to  pass  the  post-office  two  blocks  away! 

Suddenly  Dinner  Gaze's  dangerous,  desperate 
voice  rang  out  clearly,  with  an  intonation  which 
pierced  like  a  sword : 

" Don't  come  dis  way,  white  folks!  Ef  you  do, 
you  better  come  a-shootin'  an'  pick  out  yo'  grave 
befo'  you  starts!" 

XVII 

SMOKE  OF  BATTLE. 

By  terrible  and  evil  ways,  the  reckless  feet  of 
Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg  had  come  to  that 
cleared  space  in  the  Tickfall  court-room.  In  the 
next  few  minutes,  they  were  going  to  make  Tickfall 
history. 

No  man  knew  this  better  than  the  sheriff,  the 
district  attorney,  the  judge  of  the  district  court, 
and  the  jurors,  as  each  man  stood  in  his  place 


Hoodoo  Face  375 

and  planned  his  part  in  the  coming  battle.  The 
negro  is  the  deadliest  fighter  on  earth — when  he 
makes  up  his  mind  to  fight. 

Sheriff  Flournoy  raised  his  gun — and  the  fight 
was  on.  With  a  motion  as  easy  and  as  mechanical 
as  the  gesture  of  a  man  flecking  a  speck  of  dust 
from  his  cuff,  Dinner  Gaze  turned  his  hand  and 
shot  back.  The  two  guns  spoke  simultaneously. 

With  an  oath,  Sheriff  Flournoy  dropped  his 
useless  gun  at  his  feet — the  bullet  from  Dinner 
Gaze's  pistol  had  struck  it  and  put  it  permanently 
out  of  business. 

Hitch  Diamond  snarled  like  an  angry  beast. 
By  a  thrust  of  his  foot,  he  turned  over  the  table 
before  which  Skeeter  Butts  sat,  making  a  barrier 
for  himself.  At  the  same  instant  of  time,  he  hurled 
a  heavy  chair  straight  at  Dinner  Gaze,  who  stood 
grinning,  leering  at  Sheriff  Flournoy,  who  was  now 
weaponless. 

Hitch  dropped  down  behind  the  table  as  a  bullet 
splashed  through  the  wood  two  inches  above  him, 
and  also  splashed  every  juryman  out  of  the  box 
like  a  big  flat  rock  falling  in  a  puddle  of  mud ! 

Skeeter  Butts  jerked  a  pistol  from  his  coat 
pocket  and  tossed  it  to  Hitch  Diamond.  Lifting 
with  his  powerful  left  arm,  Hitch  held  up  that 
heavy  table  as  a  shield  between  him  and  his 
enemies,  and  crashed  forward  toward  Gaze  and 
Sugg,  shooting  as  he  went.  Falling,  he  shot  again ; 
sprawling  upon  the  floor,  he  raised  himself  above 
the  table  and  shot  still  again. 

Once  more  Hitch  Diamond  charged  forward, 


376  Hoodoo  Face 

drawing  closer  to  the  fighting  pair,  staggering  with 
his  heavy  table  as  a  shield,  economical  with  his 
gun-fire,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  kill,  blazing,  terri 
ble,  alone,  moving  toward  the  flash  and  smoke 
and  rattle  of  the  two  guns  barking  from  the  hands 
of  the  two  men  who  stood  with  their  backs  against 
the  wall  with  leering  grins  upon  their  faces. 

The  unarmed  men  in  the  court-room  dodged 
behind  the  furniture  and  crawled  under  the  seats, 
shuddering  at  the  fury  of  battle,  as  the  bullets  tore 
the  plastering  from  the  ceiling  and  the  walls,  splin 
tered  the  furniture,  ricocheted  around  the  room, 
smashing  windows  and  the  glass  globes  of  the 
electric  lights. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Hitch's  last 
bullet  was  fired  and  he  snapped  his  empty  gun  into 
the  faces  of  his  enemies.  At  nearly  the  same 
moment  Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg  threw  aside 
their  own  empty  and  useless  weapons. 

With  a  loud  bellow,  Hitch  Diamond  tossed 
the  table  from  him,  breaking  off  the  two  legs  on 
one  side.  He  sprang  around,  and  in  and  out, 
striking  blows  which  had  made  him  famous  in  the 
pugilistic  ring  all  over  the  State.  He  struck  and 
parried  and  struck  again,  pounding,  pounding  at 
the  faces  of  the  two  shrieking  men  who  fought 
at  him  with  weapons  mightier  than  their  fists,  for 
they  were  fighting  with  the  legs  of  the  table  which 
Hitch  had  broken  off  when  he  tossed  his  improvised 
shield  aside! 

There  was  a  rush  of  help  coming  to  the  aid 
of  Hitch  Diamond — Sheriff  Flournoy,  the  district 


Hoodoo  Face  377 

attorney,  the  two  mill  owners,  a  court-clerk, 
twelve  jurors,  Skeeter  Butts,  and  Vinegar  Atts. 

Then  began  a  noise  of  shouting  and  tumult, 
oaths,  curses;  shrieking,  horrible,  blood-stained 
faces,  snarling  lips  and  gnashing  teeth,  and  Hitch 
Diamond  fought  on,  leading  the  hosts  who  stood 
for  law  and  justice.  Pain  tore  at  his  bruised  and 
bleeding  face,  blood  streamed  from  his  hands  and 
arms,  his  mighty,  heaving  chest  left  stains  of  red 
upon  his  white  shirt  bosom. 

Men  fell,  and  Hitch  stepped  on  them.  Hitch 
fell,  and  men  stepped  on  him.  All  men  slipped 
and  slid  in  blood,  crushed  each  other,  dragged 
each  other  down,  struck  each  other — and  all 
heaved  and  cursed  and  shouted  and  hammered 
and  tore  at  the  shuddering  tangle  of  human  flesh 
and  bone. 

Standing  on  a  chair  close  to  the  struggling  men 
was  a  woman — a  woman  of  wicked,  half-caste 
beauty,  her  long  Indian  hair  streaming  down  her 
back,  her  golden-colored  hands  weaving  to  and  fro 
with  clenched  fists,  her  golden  face  blazing  with 
hate  and  fury — fit  mate  for  Hitch  Diamond,  whose 
wife  she  was. 

Her  voice  rang  like  a  trumpet: 

"Kill  'em,  Hitchie!  Kill  'em!  Kill  'em!  Kill 
'em!" 

Such  a  brutal,  demoniacal  struggle  could  not 
endure  long.  Vinegar  Atts  was  senseless.  Skee 
ter  Butts  lay  flat  on  his  back  against  the  wall  with 
the  blood  streaming  from  an  ugly  cut  upon  his 
head.  Three  of  the  jurors  nursed  broken  arms, 


378  Hoodoo  Face 

and  several  more  had  retired  from  the  fray  dis 
abled  by  their  injuries. 

Sheriff  Flournoy  lay  on  the  floor  with  the  blood 
flowing  from  a  wound  on  his  neck.  He  crawled 
over  and  picked  up  the  pistol  which  Skeeter  Butts 
had  given  to  Hitch  Diamond  and  which  Hitch  had 
discarded.  He  extracted  the  cartridges  from  his 
own  useless  pistol  and  slipped  them  into  Skeeter's 
gun,  for  he  had  given  that  weapon  to  Skeeter  and 
they  were  of  the  same  calibre. 

Just  at  that  moment  Tucky  Sugg  fought  his 
way  through  the  tangle  of  human  arms  and  legs 
and  sprang  into  the  open  window.  Then  he  went 
screaming  downward  to  his  death  as  a  bullet  from 
the  sheriff's  pistol  went  with  him,  pocketed  in  the 
murderer's  heart! 

Then,  as  if  the  crack  of  the  sheriff's  pistol  was 
her  cue  to  enter,  another  woman  came  up-stage  and 
stood  in  the  blazing  light  of  battle.  She  weighed 
four  hundred  and  ten  pounds,  and  resembled 
a  balloon  divided  in  the  middle  by  an  apron  string. 
She  was  conducted  by  Dainty  Blackum  and  a 
strange  young  negro  man,  and  her  name  was  Ginny 
Babe  Chew. 

Inside  the  railing,  she  picked  up  a  heavy  iron 
cuspidor,  and  walked  over  to  the  table  where, 
earlier  in  the  morning,  the  district  attorney  had 
sat. 

"He'p  me  up  on  dis  here  table,  honey!"  she 
grunted,  hugging  the  heavy  cuspidor  in  her  arms. 

The  district  attorney  lay  unconscious  under  the 
table  on  which  Ginny  stood. 


Hoodoo  Face  379 

Ginny  announced  her  position  by  a  loud  bellow. 
She  raised  the  large  iron  cuspidor  above  her  head 
with  her  fat  arms,  and  every  pound  of  her  mon 
strous  weight  was  quivering  with  unspeakable  hate. 

"Git  outen  my  way,  Hitchie!"  she  whooped. 
" Gimme  room  accawdin'  to  my  fat,  sonny!  Let 
yo'  mammy  put  somepin  acrost!" 

For  more  than  a  minute  Sheriff  Flournoy  had 
been  fingering  his  pistol,  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  shoot  without  killing  Hitch  Diamond.  Ginny 
Babe  Chew's  remarkable  stunt  gave  him  pause  and 
caused  him  to  lower  his  gun  with  astonishment. 

Hitch  reeled  and  stumbled  backward.  His  eyes 
were  glazing,  his  right  arm  hung  broken  and  useless 
at  his  side,  he  was  one  bloody  mass  of  wounds. 

Dinner  Gaze,  his  clothes  torn  from  him  until  he 
was  bare  to  the  waist,  his  whole  body  screaming 
with  pain  from  countless  injuries,  slowly  followed 
Hitch  in  his  retreat,  chopping  at  him  with  weaken 
ing  arms,  still  fighting  with  the  broken  table-leg. 

"Look  up,  Dinner  Gaze!"  Ginny  Babe  Chew 
bawled.  "Dis  is  yo'  la-ast  time  to  see  de  hoodoo 
face!" 

Unconsciously  responding  to  the  command,  Din 
ner  Gaze  raised  his  pain-shot  eyes  upward,  and 
looked  into  the  fat  face,  through  whose  rolls  of 
flesh  two  green  pig  eyes  gleamed  upon  him  with  a 
serpent's  venom  and  deadly  malignity. 

The  heavy  iron  cuspidor  came  down  with  a 
crash.  It  crushed  the  criminal's  head  like  an  egg 
shell.  It  bounced,  fell  on  its  rounded  edge,  and 
rolled  slowly  across  the  floor. 


380  Hoodoo  Face 

Dinner  Gaze  fell  face  downward,  kicked  the  floor 
three  times  with  the  toes  of  his  shoes,  and  died. 

"Dar — now!"  Ginny  Babe  Chew  whooped. 

Then  she  held  out  a  fat  hand  to  the  slim  young 
girl  standing  beside  the  table  and  said : 

"Gimme  yo'  hand  an'  he'p  me  down  offen  dis 
table,  honey !  Dis  here  duck  is  too  dang  fat  to  be 
roostin'  so  high!" 


XVIII 

THE  HOODOO  FACE  SMILES. 

The  panic  and  outflow  of  negroes  from  the  trial 
chamber  in  the  Tickfall  courthouse  started  a  riot- 
call  in  the  town. 

A  clerk  in  the  Gaitskill  store  across  the  street 
ran  over  and  tolled  the  courthouse  bell  ten  times. 
In  response,  every  white  man  in  Tickfall  dropped 
his  task,  armed  himself,  and  came  with  all  possible 
haste  to  the  court  square. 

When  Tucky  Sugg  fell  screaming  from  the  open 
window,  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill  started  at  the  head 
of  a  band  of  armed  men  up  the  steps  leading  to 
the  court-room.  The  band  arrived  too  late  to  do 
more  than  constitute  themselves  into  an  ambulance 
corps,  and  render  first  aid  to  the  injured. 

Four  physicians  came  panting  up  the  steps, 
bumping  their  instrument  cases  against  the  wall 
as  they  ran,  and  their  arrival  converted  the  room 
into  a  hospital  where  the  doctor  became  a  wise 
and  efficient  judge. 


Hoodoo  Face  381 

Colonel  Gaitskill  appointed  ten  men  as  assistants 
and  runners  for  the  doctors,  assigned  to  the  rest 
of  his  band  the  task  of  standing  on  the  square  in 
heroic  attitudes  and  guarding  the  courthouse,  and 
then  he  cleared  the  room  of  all  the  curious  and  use 
less  persons  and  closed  the  door. 

An  hour  later  all  the  wounded  sat  up  and  took 
notice,  and  some  of  them  smiled. 

Skeeter  Butts  arose  from  his  place,  sobbing  with 
pain.  He  staggered  across  the  blood-splashed 
floor  toward  a  pitcher  of  water  which  sat  on  the 
floor  by  the  judge's  bench.  Weakness  overcame 
him,  and  he  sank  down  in  the  witness-chair,  almost 
fainting. 

Judge  Henry  Haddan,  whose  Websterian  head 
was  considerably  larger  now  on  account  of  certain 
bruised  and  swollen  places,  and  a  big  wad  of  cotton 
applied  to  them,  thrust  a  glass  of  water  into 
Skeeter's  trembling  hands. 

"Skeeter,"  he  asked,  "how  did  you  know  that 
Dinner  Gaze  and  Tucky  Sugg  committed  that 
crime  in  Sawtown?" 

"I  didn't  know,  Marse  Henry,"  Skeeter  an 
swered  in  a  weak  voice.  "I  sot  down  in  dis  chair 
an'  I  said  jes'  whut  Ginny  Babe  Chew  tole  me  to 
say!" 

Everybody  in  the  court-room  heard  Skeeter's 
answer.  There  was  a  general  gasp  of  astonish 
ment. 

Judge  Haddan  walked  wearily  up  to  his  bench 
and  sat  down.  It  appeared  later  that  he  was 
seriously  hurt,  and  he  spent  many  weeks  in  bed. 


382  Hoodoo  Face 

But  now  he  was  sustained  by  the  excitement  of  the 
moment. 

The  district  attorney  dragged  himself  across  the 
floor  and  sat  down  at  his  table  near  to  where  Din 
ner  Gaze  lay  face  downward,  his  hand  still  grasp 
ing  the  table-leg. 

Ginny  Babe  Chew  walked  to  the  middle  of  the 
room,  rested  a  fat  hand  on  each  fat  hip,  and  looked 
up  into  the  face  of  Judge  Haddan. 

"Yes,  suh,  boss,"  she  said.  "Ginny  Babe 
Chew  is  to  blame  fer  dis  here  noble  fracas ! "  Then 
she  smiled. 

"How  did  you  know,  Ginny?"  Judge  Haddan 
asked,  twisting  his  pain-shot  face  into  an  answer 
ing  smile,  and  feeling  of  an  extremely  sore  place  on 
top  of  his  head. 

"Dude  Blackum  tole  me!"  she  answered. 

"Dude  Blackum  is  dead — drowned  in  attempt 
ing  to  escape!"  Judge  Haddan  snapped. 

"Naw,  suh.  He  warn't  drowned.  He's  a  settin* 
right  dar  by  Dainty  Blackum  now!" 

As  she  pointed  a  young,  respectful,  nicely 
dressed  negro  stood  up,  bowed  to  the  judge,  and 
smiled,  flashing  a  gold  front  tooth. 

"Naw,  suh,  jedge, "  he  murmured  in  a  depreca 
tory  tone.  ' '  I  ain't  dead ! " 

Then  they  listened  while  Dude  told  his  story . 

After  leaving  his  cabin  with  the  jug,  he  had 
taken  several  drinks  and  had  crawled  under  the 
porch  of  the  commissary  store  to  sleep  because  he 
was  afraid  to  go  back  home  to  listen  to  what  Dainty 
was  sure  to  say  about  his  conduct.  He  had  been 


Hoodoo  Face  383 

awakened  by  having  something  thrown  over  his 
face — and  this  afterward  proved  to  be  the  coat  and 
vest  which  Tucky  Sugg  had  taken  from  Hitch  Dia 
mond.  Dude  heard  two  men  talking,  heard  them 
call  each  other  by  name,  heard  them  enter  the 
store  for  robbery;  then  Dude  had  seized  his  jug 
and  had  run  to  the  night-watchman  and  made  a 
report. 

The  night-watchman,  running  to  the  store,  had 
been  killed. 

Dude,  dodging  among  the  lumber  piles,  had 
been  captured;  the  only  man  who  could  clear  him 
of  suspicion  had  just  been  killed ;  his  captors  would 
not  listen  to  explanations,  so  Dude  took  a  desper 
ate  chance  by  jumping  into  the  river,  and  had 
escaped. 

What  the  mob  thought  was  Dude's  woolly 
head  bobbing  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  was 
really  Dude's  derby  hat.  Expecting  them  to 
shoot  at  his  hat,  Dude  waited  until  the  right  time, 
and  artfully  contributed  a  splash  and  a  scream, 
and  the  mob  thought  he  had  got  cramps  and 
sunk. 

Chucklingly,  Dude  told  his  auditors  that  he  was 
beating  his  hat  down  the  river  about  thirty  yards, 
swimming  like  Jonah  inside  the  whale. 

He  returned  to  his  cabin  that  night,  explained 
everything  to  Dainty,  mounted  a  mustang,  and 
rode  to  Ginny  Babe  Chew's  cabin,  where  she 
concealed  him  until  the  time  of  the  trial.  Skeeter 
had  seen  his  face  at  the  dormer  window  when  the 
chicken-house  burned  down. 


384  Hoodoo  Face 

"I  knowed  dat  Dinner  Gaze  an'  Tucky  Sugg 
done  it,  Marse  Henry,"  Skeeter  cackled.  "I 
knowed  it  all  de  time — I  had  a  hunch!" 

"I  knowed  it,  too, "  Ginny  Babe  Chew  rumbled. 
'Ts  got  a  hoodoo  face. " 

"I  knowed  it,"  Hitch  Diamond  growled. 
"Goldietoldme." 

"I  think  we  had  better  go  home, "  Judge  Henry 
Haddan  said,  with  a  funny  twisted  smile.  "My 
head  hurts!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  your  honor, "  the  district 
attorney  said,  rising  painfully  to  his  feet  and 
leaning  weakly  against  the  table.  "  Excuse  me — 
but  haven't  you  forgotten  something?" 

Judge  Haddan 's  aching  head  was  not  working 
clearly,  and  he  did  not  catch  Davazec's  meaning  at 
all.  He  thought  he  understood,  and  so  he  an 
nounced: 

"Hitch  Diamond,  you  are  a  brave  negro.  Your 
heroic  fight  in  this  court-room  will  be  long  re 
membered.  "  Haddan  broke  off,  tried  to  smile,  and 
continued:  "Your  masterly  presentation  of  your 
defense  disproves,  in  this  instance,  the  aphorism 
that  a  lawyer  who  pleads  his  own  case  has  a  fool  for 
a  client." 

' '  Dat's  right,  boss ! "  Ginny  Babe  Chew  whooped. 
"Little  Hitchie  shore  is  brave  an'  smart,  ef  I  do 
say  it  myse'f,  whut  hadn't  oughter.  Nobody  in 
dis  country  don't  know  it  but  me  and  Hitch — but 
I  is  Hitch's  mammy!  He  is  kin  to  me  by  born- 
ation  on  de  Flournoy  plantation  fawty  years 


Hoodoo  Face  385 

' '  Aw,  hush ! ' '  Judge  Haddan  exclaimed.  * '  I  am 
feeling  very  badly,  and  I  am  going  home 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  your  honor!"  the  district 
attorney  repeated  in  a  courteous  but  insistent  tone. 
"Have  you  not  forgotten  something?" 

Judge  Haddan  rested  both  hands  upon  his  ach 
ing  head  and  thought.  Then  he  forgot  his  ach 
ing  head  and  laughed.  He  straightened  up  and 
spoke : 

"The  indictments  against  defendant  are  dis 
missed,  and  defendant  discharged — the  jury  is 
excused,  and  court  adjourned!  Hitch  Diamond, 
you  are  free!" 

"Dar  now,  boss, "  Hitch  bellowed,  grinning  into 
his  honor's  face.  "I  wus  plum'  shore  you  an*  me 
could  win  dis  case  ef  we  jes'  sot  our  minds  to  do 
it.  Bless  Gawd!" 

25 


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